The Book of the Dragonborn
by FractiousDay
Summary: Being the saga of Harald Holmganger, known now as Hadrian Septim, last king of the ancient blood of Atmora, and in order that his great deeds be known. Egil Vandrædskald wrote these words, but lived them too. A biography of the Last Dragonborn's life, covering the period between Oblivion and Skyrim, including the Great War and leading to his accession to the Ruby Throne.
1. Chapter 1

**The Book of the Dragonborn**

 _Being the saga of Harald Holmganger, known now as Hadrian Septim, last king of the ancient blood of Atmora, and in order that his great deeds be known. Egil Vandrædskald wrote these words, but lived them too._

 **Prologue**

The Doom Drum thundered on, the Moon Beast's iniquity rolling through the sky.

Harald frowned into the dark night, he could hear the rushing of the river that divided friendly and hostile lands, but despite the moons above the night was too dark to see anything but degrees of black. Nightflyers screeched in the branches of the forest beyond the river, and Harald imagined the howls and roars of the beasts hunting them.

A figure came to stand on the balcony beside him. "What do you see?" He asked, "Do you think of the crossing or what comes after?"

Harald turned and smiled, "Savos." he nodded to his friend, "This is a thing a century in the making my friend, all I see is what I've conjured, a compensation of the mind." He thought of the last time he had gone into Valenwood and his journey across the elven lands. "Tomorrow I walk in my grandfather's steps; I will carry war into the wood as he did. He retreated with the standard of the Tenth, I will lead them back, and be the first to plant a flag there for a hundred years."

The elf turned and leant on the balustrade, red eyes glinting like garnets in the dark, and they stood in warm silence, listening to the river. They were far enough away from the camp to be free of the lights and smell of watchfires, with only the most trusted of their companions below in the estate.

"You've been looking forward to this war haven't you?" Savos continued after a while. "But, again, is it what has been or what will be that concerns you?"

Harald let his hand fall to his belt, to its accustomed resting place on a sword hilt, groping in the dark before remembering he had disarmed for the night. "There's been so much to lead to this…" he began, "You were there for some of it, but we only play our part in the strategies of our fathers."

"Yes I was there for it, I was with you at Soulrest and Torval, which means I know how free we are. Strategies and plans - We have a part in this!" Savos said quietly, ending in a hiss.

Harald frowned, the forest forgotten he turned back, "I thought you liked my plan?"

"Reman's plan, hardly yours if it began in the First Era." Savos snipped, though not unkindly, "But yes, I do, and you know that, but I've told you before you are too confident in fate."

Harald made no answer, his friend had indeed said so, many times in many discussions. "I've been thinking about fate, about what happens when we win." He said after a while.

"A parade presumably."

A smile. But he was in no mood for laughter. "No," he said, "no that's not what I mean." He rolled his shoulders and resumed his vigil on the forest. "When all of this ends, when I stand victorious, I think I will stand alone, and even my sons will see me only from far away."

"Such is the life of a king, they say." Shrugged Savos philosophically.

"Yet is has never been so whenever I have ruled before. But when the time come they will call me Dragonborn and Emperor, and forget when I sat with them as a friend. Some of them down there already call me Ysmir, when they think I can't hear them."

Savos regarded him, tilting his head. "I doubt it." He replied simply, and reached out and grasped Harald's shoulder. "Your knights honour you, and the people love you, and unless something changes they will continue to." He sighed. "But if it does, when you sit, as you say, alone on a cold throne, in all your panoply, and all the kings of Tamriel kneel to you, I will stand and embrace you as a brother."

Harald closed his eyes. "Then for that I will be grateful, brother."

Again they fell into silence for a time and eventually Savos turned to leave, stepping away from the balcony, but he turned back after a step, "Behold you elves, men and beasts, the Mercy of God! Nine-by-Nine Coruscations, bound to the earth. The fortress is fallen, the dragon slain, peace and mirth!" he paused and laughed. "Forgive me, I am fatigued…"

Harald smiled back, "To bed my friend! Tomorrow to battle."

"To victory."

 _So a rather long time ago I wrote 'The Unforeseen Variable', a HPxSkyrim crossover that I largely lost the plot of, it having been written somewhat on a whim. I think it holds up reasonably, but its pretty bad. I've been wanting to rewrite it for a long time, and I heard that they announced TES VI at E3 this year so I thought I'd take advantage of that. I'm also hoping posting this and the expectations of readers will encourage me to keep writing it. At some point later I'll come back and make a sufficiently impressive title page for this._


	2. Chapter 2

_AN: It is usually my custom to go through favourites profiles to see if they have any interesting stories, or have read any interesting ones. The 250 emails I got telling me who's been having a look at this made this custom impossible though, which on one hand is bad, but on the other shows a clear interest in the story, which is obviously good. In general, I'm pretty pleased to be starting this back up. I'll go through and answer some of the reviews from the first chapter after I post this._

 _As the greatest problem with UV was characterisation and demonstrating why people were doing stuff, we're going to begin very early. There won't be any battles for a while, but rest assured, we'll eventually get onto the dragonslaying and the Elf Wars. Behold therefore, our Hero:_

 **Chapter 1**

Harald thought it was going to rain.

The skies were darkening, and clouds were starting to fly in like giant birds, covering the sun.

If it did rain he would get wet, and cold.

Uncle had told him to keep the sheep up until dusk, but with the clouds going overhead Harald would have no idea when that would be, a few hours surely.

Harald didn't want to be out in the rain, not with all the caves of Bloodweaver Spiders that were about in the hills and cliffs around the farm. His cousins made fun of him and told him horrible stories about them. He had his sling but that was for wolves and foxes, he'd never tried it on the big spiders.

Would a rock kill a spider? Stamping on the little ones worked fine, but he didn't know if you could do the same to the big ones.

He abruptly stood up and peered around him at the countryside to make sure there weren't legions of spiders boiling out the ground to eat his sheep.

Happily, there weren't, the only things moving around in the valley were his cousins and their flocks.

That being said there did seem to be a man on a horse coming up the mountain. He was probably a traveller going to the great castle away to the south. Most travellers went along the King's Road at the bottom of the valley though so Harald wasn't sure why he was coming all the way up here.

As the traveller got closer Harald could tell more about him, his horse was particularly fine, a large animal, but not as large as a knight's charger he had seen once pass along the road. The man himself was cloaked and hooded and seemed to have dark skin.

Harald had seen a Redguard once at market; a man on his way from Wayrest to Rivenspire. Harald thought he was a trader, couldn't remember what sort.

But when the rider came closer Harald saw that his skin wasn't just dark, sallow and gray, as if he were a corpse.

Perhaps he was a demon. Or some sort of undead monster. Harald had heard about them in church.

But if the man coming up the slope was indeed a demon why was he riding a horse? As Harald understood it demons had wings, or appeared in a puff of smoke. Perhaps the horse was also a demon.

He wondered if demon horses liked apples.

Witches could travel about through mirrors, but there weren't any mirrors around Harald, considering he was up a mountain. Harald was also unsure of whether a witch was a demon or not, the priest had not been clear on that point.

The rider peered up at Harald, and dismounted from his horse and started climbing up the side of the mountain instead. The slope was too steep for a horse, even if the sheep had hopped up it fast enough. The incline was also covered in large tufts of heather and a few hawthorn trees. Such a large horse wouldn't be able to make it past them, even the sheep had a trouble of it, with the branches being covered in wisps of wool.

Eventually the man struggled up to the crest of the mountain and went toward Harald, who was thinking about what to do. He had more or less decided that the man was not a demon, or that if he was, he was surely the most unimpressive demon that was ever created. Harald therefore had to decide whether to speak to the man or to run away. It seemed unlikely that the man would attack him, and if he did he had his sling and, being a child, would be much more nimble than the man, and could run away quickly. But Harald also had his dozen sheep to look after, if he left them he'd spend all day herding them back together. Even if the possibly demon-man ran after them trying to eat them.

The stranger came to a stop a few feet away, looked around him, and sat down on a large mossy rock. He had a fearsome appearance, with red eyes and very sharp cheekbones and brow. He pulled down his hood and Harald saw his black hair was caught up in a tail behind him. Though his features were strange to Harald's eyes, he did not look evil. Perhaps he was simply unwell.

"Hello." Harald said to the stranger, "Are you lost? The road to the castle is south of here."

The man regarded Harald thoughtfully. "I do not believe I am lost." He said slowly. "I am looking for someone."

"Well there's only us here, and the MacGregors in the next glen." Replied Harald, thinking it unlikely that the stranger was looking for either family.

"Indeed." Remarked the stranger.

It being apparent that the visitor wasn't going to just leave, Harald thought he ought to introduce himself, it was only polite after all.

"My name is Harald," he announced.

The stranger regarded him evenly. "You have your father's look about you."

Harald's eyes widened. "Really? Did you know him?" Harald knew very little about his father, other than that he was called 'Ruarc' and that he had died soldiering for the Emperor.

The stranger smiled, and it lit up his face and made him look far friendlier, "I knew your grandfather better." He said, "But I knew your father well enough to call him a friend."

"Who are you then? And how did you know him?" asked Harald, he had many questions, but those seemed the most important.

The man stood and bowed "I am Llirelyn Vinothren, of Wayrest. Can you read?"

Harald noticed that he ignored the second question, but thought little of it, he could just ask him again late. He shook his head rather shamefully. His Uncle could read, as could some of his cousins. He also thought that the man had a strange name, but perhaps such things were expected of foreigners, which this man clearly was.

"Well," replied the man, "we will have to see to that, I shall teach you. Then you may read this." He explained, and fished a letter from beneath his cloak. "Suffice it to say, your father desired that I take on guardianship of you till you are a man grown."

"What would that mean?" asked Harald, he did not understand what the man was saying, but it seemed that the man wanted to take him away.

"That you would come with me and live in my house in Wayrest, and that I should educate you till you are a man."

"So you would be like a new father to me?"

The man frowned, "No, not a father, an uncle perhaps, if you wished." He motioned to a few of the sheep wandering around, "Though you may wish to stay and continue farming…"

"No." Harald quickly said, "I don't like farming."

The man smiled again, "I don't imagine you do, your father certainly didn't."

"If I came with you, will you tell me more of my father?" asked Harald, given how little he actually knew about his father learning more was his main concern, the man said Harald resembled his father, this made Harald think that his father must have known the man fairly well. Also, if Harald did learn to read he could read the note from his father, and if it didn't say what the man said it did Harald could just run away.

"I will tell you what I know, and I have many of his possessions in my keeping that are rightly yours." Said the man.

Harald thought, and yet did not, he was conscious of his yearning for news of his father, what sort of man he was, and what he did in life, but he had other questions he didn't fully comprehend, but he had great curiosity about the world and the stranger represented outside the little sheep-filled valley of Harald's childhood.

"Alright."


	3. Chapter 3

_AN: Remember to comment or review, this both gives me feedback and helps the fic to stay nearer the top of the boards, which draws more readers._

 _Also had some comments about this starting off slow. That's true, but there's a lot of setup going on. We'll ramp up as the story progresses, but for the moment I've got to establish motivations etc. I also considered trying to cut these chapters up to again increase the time it stayed nearer the top but I appear to have written it in such a fashion to make this difficult. Oh well._

* * *

They walked down the mountain in silence, and Harald's new guardian lifted him onto the big horse and climbed on after, Harald sitting before him in the saddle. They rode across the valley to the farm and found some of the family there, standing awkwardly outside. There was a palpable tension in the air, though Harald could not see a reason why.

"Go collect your things."

Harald did so, and as he came out he saw his uncle scowling, he hadn't heard an argument between his guardian and his uncle, perhaps they had argued before or something.

He walked to the horse, but turned back, looking to his mother, he tried to think of something to say.

"Goodbye Mother." He managed eventually "I'll be back one day."

They rode off, Harald made sure not to look back, he was going to do his Father's work, and he looked forward to it. He did see a frown on his new guardian's face.

They passed beyond the shadow of the mountain and out of the valley at its foot.

"What do I call you?" Harald asked suddenly, having just thought of it.

The man behind Harald said nothing for a moment, directing the horse around a bend in the road with a twitch of the reins.

"You may call me Master Vinothren." He said finally.

"Alright." replied Harald, he didn't like his Uncle so he didn't really want to call the man 'Uncle' but 'Master Vinothren' was fine, an unusual name but then again Harald hadn't really met than many people.

They came off the small hill road that they had been riding down and onto a very wide stone road, the horse's hooves clopping along, fields of crops on either side of them, strewn with weeds and wild flowers. Some small black birds flew overhead. Harald enjoyed the view, but rapidly grew bored, and after an hour or so, which he though a very reasonable time to remain silent, he asked another question.

"Where are we going?"

"To Wayrest."

"Where is that?"

"It is two days to the south and east of us."

"Oh."

Harald knew very little of the world around his valley home, which he could walk across in a few hours, he could not imagine the great distances that would take a horse two days to cross. He had heard of Wayrest though. The King lived there.

Master Vinothren seemed to sense his thoughts and spoke again. "Do you know where we are now? In what county?" he asked Harald.

"No." said Harald slowly, but, worrying that he might embarrass himself with his ignorance, he offered what he did know, which was not a lot, only that they were on the King's Road.

"I see." Master Vinothren said, "Do you know the castle to the west?"

"Yes, you can see it from the top of the mountain." Replied Harald, though he did not know the name of whatever great lord made his seat there.

"Can you? I did not know that." Mused Master Vinothren, "Very well, let us begin your education with geography then." He cleared his throat, "I am currently deciding what road to take to Wayrest, so you may help me in this regard, I shall describe the routes and you shall say which we shall go yes?"

Harald nodded uncertainly, rather worried that such a weighty responsibility as planning the route on the first great journey of his life had fallen to him.

"Firstly, we might travel almost directly south, through the Dukedom of Alcaire, which is ruled from that castle you have seen, by a lord whom you need not know the name of, then we should cross the Stormwater River at Windridge later tonight, we would stay in an inn till the morning, and take the sea road to the town of Koeglin, where we would take a ship along the coast to Wayrest."

"We would see the sea?" asked Harald excitedly, not having done so before.

Master Vinothren laughed, "I think you would yes, unless you were to keep your eyes closed on the ship."

Harald's face burned and he felt very silly. Of course he would see the sea if they were going on a ship. "What is the other route is there?" he asked to try and spare himself the embarrassment.

"The second route is half again as long as the first, but you would see more." Master Vinothren said, "Indeed you would see almost all of the Kingdom of Stormhaven, we would follow the King's Road all the way to Wayrest, through Dukedom of Alcaire, which I have mentioned, and the Counties of Portdun, and Vanne, and the castles of Firebrand and Hammerdeath, which are the holdings of the Lords Flyte and Steelheart respectively-"

"What does 'respectively' mean?"

Master Vinothren halted his speech, "It means, 'in the order mentioned', that is, Firebrand Keep is the home of Lord Flythe and Hammerdeath is the seat of Lord Steelheart."

"Oh." Said Harald.

"Now where was I? Ah yes, we should pass Steeldeath by dusk today if the weather holds, and find some inn along the road there, perhaps the Traveller's Rest, and after that we must go through the Bonesnap Hills, which, in spite of the name, is a most pleasant country."

Harald did not quite believe that.

"After that I imagine we would be tired, and we might rest at the Pariah Abbey, which would be rather ironic now I come to think of it."

"What does 'ironic' mean, and why would it be so?"

"'Irony' is a dramatic device, I shall tell you of it when I instruct you on rhetoric, and you will see why staying at the Abbey is ironic when, or rather if we get there."

Harald nodded, 'Irony' was no doubt an invention of foreigners, who he had always been told not to trust, which was why he had not heard of it. "And then to Wayrest?" he asked, having no idea of the distances involved in the journey.

But if the first route involving a ship would take two days and Master Vinothren said the second route would take half as long again as the first then he imagined the second would take three days. Harald smiled to himself, he felt rather clever for working it all out. It was more interesting that counting sheep.

"Indeed, it is only a few hours ride then from the Abbey to the city itself, we should arrive just after midday."

Harald thought about it for the next few miles, they passed a trail of wagons and armed men going north. On one hand he would very much like to see the sea, but on the other he thought it smarter to see as many things as possible on his way to Wayrest. He also remembered that Wayrest was a coastal city, as Master Vinothren had described them sailing there. As such, he would likely be able to see the sea at Wayrest, rather than needing to travel there.

"What would my father have done?" he asked Master Vinothren, he was, after all, on this journey because his Father had given him into this man's care, Harald thought it proper to find out what he Father actually wanted for him.

"Your father served the Legion, the Emperor's army; he walked or rode wherever he needed to, seldom traveling on ships."

"What about my grandfather, you said you knew him as well."

"Indeed, you father also walked and rode, however he loved the sea, I sailed with him many times, though that is a story for another time."

Harald thought at that, if his grandfather loved the sea so much that Harald should go by ship, but he wanted to see all the things that were on the road. And again the city was apparently beside the sea, Harald thought that there would likely be many opportunities to go down to the sea while he lived there.

However, both his father and grandfather were dead, and Harald thought it might be impolite if he didn't consider his guardian's wishes. Master Vinothren had expressed no particular like or dislike of the sea, but he had seemingly been amused by the thought of staying at the Abbey he had mentioned. That decided it for Harald.

"I can see the sea at Wayrest, it's not going anywhere, I want to see all the other things on the road." He announced.

"Excellent!" exclaimed Master Vinothren, and flicked the reins to urge the horse into a canter. "Now," he said loudly over the sound of the horse's hooves, "let us be off!"


	4. Chapter 4

_AN: 'We already know all this, we've played the games, why are you telling us?'_

 _Firstly, to establish the character: I can begin to present here a nexus of scepticism, piety and curiosity that will shape Harald's character. Also however, to misinformation and bias in narration. I'm not a fan of unreliable narration, but you'll get more if you read it critically._

 _Secondly, because tes lore is questionable. More on this in later chapters, but I want to introduce the idea of actors' dichotomy between material desires and metaphysical necessity that's at the heart of a lot of Tamriel's events._

As always, reviews welcome, let me know what you think about anything in particular that appears important, unusual or controversial to you.

 **-x-**

They rose early in the morning. Harald was used to getting up at dawn, but it seemed Master Vinothren was not, and Harald had the unusual experience of being the first person awake. He sat for a while in thought in the room they had got at the Traveller's Rest.

Master Vinothren had described it merely as an 'inn' but Harald hadn't seen a larger single building in his life. It was a high as two barns stacked on top of each other and had many other buildings clustered about it, leaning against the main structure like drunks might a tavern's wall. There was a bakery, a farrier, a stable and a number of standing posts, but what purpose they were for Harald knew not. Perhaps travellers who couldn't stay tied their horses there instead of bringing them all the way into the stables.

Apart from the wonder at staying in the enormous inn, Harald was quite content. His legs felt a bit sore from riding the horse all day yesterday, and he imagined they would only feel sorer when they reached the Ironic Abbey later in the day, but he did not think he would be riding anywhere after they got to Wayrest, so he could rest there.

He heard a yawn as Master Vinothren awoke. "Good morning Harald." He said, and rubbed his eyes.

"Good morning Master Vinothren." Replied Harald brightly.

"How long have you been awake?"

"Not long. I always get up early."

Master Vinothren nodded to himself, "That is well; one can accomplish much if one is awake before other men. Remember that."

Harald dutifully committed it to memory, he felt there was a second meaning behind the words aside from the obvious, that if you were awake and others weren't then you'd be able to do things before them. Harald wasn't sure what, but it seemed a good thing to remember.

"Go downstairs then and tell the innkeep to send make us some breakfast, and a meal that we may eat later on the road."

Harald nodded, and left, he had already dressed, he had not known if they would leave early, and he was used to going out without his breakfast, it was nice to be able to eat something more than a crumb of bread and cheese.

The common room below had only a few patrons about, there was a man in robes in a corner drinking from a goblet, his face in the shadow of a hood, which he had not taken down, which was very rude. A person should always take off their hat when they came into a building. Perhaps he was a wizard. How exciting!

Tearing his gaze away from the rude hooded man Harald set out between tables and great wooden pillars holding up the ceiling to find the Innkeeper. He remembered a large moustached man from the previous night that had shown them to their room, his size should make him easy to find.

The Innkeeper was indeed standing behind the bar, and Harald wandered up to him, climbing onto a low stool so his head would reach above the rim.

"And good day to you young Master," remarked the Innkeeper, "Has your Master sent you down?" he asked.

"Yes," Harald replied, "he wants breakfast."

"And you'll be hungry yourself I don't wonder."

Harald nodded, "And he said to make us something we can have on the road later."

"Did he indeed? Well I shall set to that right quickly, if you will take yourself back up I will send something up after you."

Harald thanked the man, and, task accomplished, returned to the room. He paused outside, not knowing whether he should knock. Harald was not in his own home, and he didn't think he knew Master Vinothren well enough, only having met him the day before, to just walk in. So he knocked.

"Enter!"

Harald pushed the door and saw that his guardian was finishing dressing, but almost as soon as he had opened the door he heard the Innkeeper coming up the stairs with their food. The man bustled in with a tray in one hand and a folding table in the other, he set in down between the two beds and kicked it up with his foot, still holding the tray of food, which Harald thought was a most impressive feat.

"Here you are sirs," the Innkeeper said, and turned to Master Vinothren, "The rest of the food for the day will be ready by the time you depart."

"Excellent." Stated Master Vinothren, "Have my horse saddled and before the Inn." And he waved a hand and the Innkeeper went out bowing as he went. He waited till the door closed and then looked over the breakfast. "A decent spread." He remarked, tearing some bread in two.

Harald looked over the table; there was dark barley bread, cheese, and two bowls of porridge. There was also a jug of water and two goblets, and another small pot with a clear, golden liquid in it.

Harald followed Master Vinothren's example and tore off some bread, chewing it thoughtfully, and then nibbling some cheese. He observed Master Vinothren drizzling the golden syrup onto his porridge, then swapping the bowls and doing the same with the other bowl.

"I don't believe you'll have had honey before." He said, "Eat quickly though, I want to be off soon."

Harald finished his share of the bread and cheese, took a gulp of water, and spooned some of the porridge into his mouth. The taste was very strange, he could remember having something like it before, but not where he had had it. It was not a bad taste though, so Harald had no trouble at all eating it quickly, and after he was finished he was sad it was gone.

"Finished? Well then, let's go." Master Vinothren said, and picked buckled his belt with his coin purse and dagger around his waist, he combed his fingers through his hair.

"You're an elf!" exclaimed Harald, seeing the tip of a pointed ear and Master Vinothren tied his hair back again with a ribbon.

Master Vinothren looked down at him with a frown and a wry smile. "Yes?" he said, "Did you not know?"

Harald shook his head, he felt stupid for thinking Master Vinothren was simply unwell. "I didn't know elves look like you do." He explained.

Master Vinothren raised his eyebrows. "Well…" he remarked, "I don't suppose there's any reason for you to have seen an elf before. Most elves do look something like you imagine, though there are differences."

"Are you like a Redguard?" asked Harald when they were walking down the stairs.

Master Vinothren laughed again, "No, though I see why you made the comparison, most astute of you." And he patted Harald's head.

Harald did not know what 'astute' meant, but he assumed it meant 'clever', and so was pleased. He had guessed that Master Vinothren was just an elf with dark skin like Redguards were men with dark skin. Yet then again he had seen Bretons like himself with ruddy skin, and the trader he had seen hadn't been that dark. Men's skin became darker during summer, and he'd heard in the land of Hammerfell that summer was without end. No doubt that explained their darker skin.

They went outside and Harald saw a boy standing with the horse and a bag of their food. Master Vinothren flipped him a coin and they climbed onto the horse. Harald didn't think Master Vinothren had paid the Innkeeper, but obviously he had, as they were riding away. Perhaps he had arranged it the night before, which was clever of him, that way they were able to ride away in the morning without needing to wait.

"We will not pass Firebrand Keep for some time yet," said Master Vinothren, "I think there is time for me to tell of the origins of my people before I tell you about the Knights of the Flame. Where to begin?"

He was silent for a few moments, then spoke again, "What do you know of elves Harald?" he asked.

Harald thought to himself. In truth he didn't know much, not having met many elves, but his favourite story was about them, so he told that instead.

"The men fought a war against the elves." He began, "And the men won, so the elves went away to their island with a tower. The island had a tower – not, the elves didn't take the tower with them." He explained, thinking he should clarify the point, "Anyway, the elves said 'Well, take the lands, we will give them back to the wilds', but the men didn't care so they farmed and fished and went about as they used to." Then there was a part Harald had never been sure of, about the towns and farmers, so he skipped it, "But then the animals came out of the woods and ate some of the men, so they ran away. So one day a farmboy went to the temple and prayed to Stendarr to give them mercy from the animals attacking them. So Stendarr send a giant hawk into the church and it said 'the animals are attacking because they think you are a beast with no name, so you must tell them you have a name' so the boy went into the forest and a bear came to eat him, so he said to it 'I am a man, who it is not lawful to slay, return to the wilds' and so the boy walked the wilds and they called him the Viridian Sentinel."

"Indeed." Said Master Vinothren after some time. He was silent after for a few miles, but eventually stirred, "That is not a story I have heard before, but it does not surprise me, there are some similarities with the tales of the Bosmer. Before you ask what a 'Bosmer' is I think I shall begin your education in Old Ehlnofic. I intend to teach you the language, as it is the purest and highest of all languages, and I suppose we shall begin now."

Harald said nothing, Master Vinothren had guessed that he didn't know what a Bosmer was, Harald assumed it was a sort of elf.

"Are you aware Harald that you are a Nord, of a different people than the Bretons surrounding you?" Master Vinothren asked.

Harald shook his head; he had never thought about it.

"Well you are, your Grandfather was, and your Father, and so are you, you will be larger and stronger than other men when you are fully grown, and you may not feel the cold as much as other men do. Nords are the purest race of men, and for that you should be proud, your people were created, it is said, atop the Throat of the World, which is the tallest mountain in the world, it is in Skyrim, you will see it one day."

Master Vinothren was silent for another mile or so, perhaps in thought, or maybe he was just giving Harald time to think.

"The ancient Nords spread and grew from their origins, and some departed to Atmora, which is a land to the far north, beyond the Shivering Sea. They built great kingdoms there, but a cataclysm (which is a sort of great misfortune) came upon the land, and they sailed under their king Ysgramor to Skyrim."

Harald was secretly pleased he had not had to ask about what the word meant. Even in the short time he had been with the elf, he had found himself often feeling uncivilised or stupid around Master Vinothren, for not knowing the large words he used.

"However at that point Skyrim was peopled by elves, so Ysgramor called the land 'Mereth', meaning 'Elf Land' in his language. You must remember Harald," and Harald made sure to pay attention, "Always call an 'elf' a 'mer', it is rude to call someone an elf, especially to their face."

Harald again committed it to memory, again feeling stupid for calling Master Vinothren an elf before.

"Anyway, Ysgramor's men went out and made war on the Falmer, which means here 'Snow Elves' and afterward spread out across Tamriel. You will note that I have mentioned the Bosmer, and the Falmer, this is the manner in which we refer to elves in this era, 'Bosmer' means 'Wood Elf' because they live in the woods, there are also the 'Altmer' which means 'High Elf' both because they are very tall, and because they are a very high-minded and noble people, or at least they say they are."

"Are they actually though?" Harald asked.

"It depends who you ask." Replied Master Vinothren, "It is true that they keep to the ancient customs of the Aldmer, meaning the 'First Ones', more than the other merkin, and it is true that they are very powerful and learned, and as such the Altmer consider themselves the true line of lineage going back to the beginning. More than that, you must judge for yourself. There are a large number of groups that claim to be the true line, the Altmer are only the most powerful."

Harald nodded, it seemed to him that the Aldmer, these First Elves, had had many children, who had formed the different groups of elves, and now that they squabbled over their father's possessions as it were.

"Now we come to my own people, you believe I was somehow a Redguard elf did you not, well you were right, in a way. The Redguards are a different sort of men to the Nords, Bretons and the Cyrods, whom you may know as the 'Imperials', however long ago they were likely the same people, the Dunmer, my people, meaning 'Dark Elves' but also 'Cursed Elves' were once a group of Altmer who worshiped different gods to the Altmer, as such they were persecuted and so Veloth, a great priest and prophet, led them away from their home across Tamriel to a land called 'Dwemereth', which you can tell was ruled by the 'Deep Elves', also called the Dwarves, which I will tell you of another day, Veloth's followers made alliance with the kings of the Dwarves, and there great friendship between the two peoples. However, the leader of those who were to become the Dunmer, who was a great soldier and king called Indoril Nerevar, was betrayed by his three friends, Vivec, Almalexia and Sotha Sil, and they killed him and stole his power. For this the goddess Azura punished the elves, and said to them 'May the eyes of the Changed ones be turned red and their skin blackened as their hearts, a curse upon these folk forever more' and so the Dunmer became known as the Cursed Folk."

"Why did they kill Indoril Nerevar?" asked Harald, if they were his friends he could not imagine a reason. He also did not think it was right of Azura to have punished everyone for only a few of them who committed the crime.

"No-one knows truly, perhaps they thought he was becoming too powerful a king and wanted that power for themselves."

"But why did the goddess punish all the elves then? If it was only a few of them that killed him?"

"Some believe that there was a greater sin among the elves of the time, however there is no proof either way, it is also interesting to note that the Dwemer disappeared at the same time the Dunmer were cursed. However, Azura is also a Daedric Lord, who are known to be treacherous."

Harald thought that seemed reasonable, he knew lots of stories where there was a particularly sinful family or village and the gods destroyed it, even though there might have been some there who were innocent, the priest had always said it was because the innocent had been slothful and not sought out the evil to stop it. Harald suddenly saw that it was the same in the story of the Viridian Sentinel, Stendarr had only helped the farmboy when he asked for help, not when the elves had unleashed the beasts on the people.

"And what happened in the end?" asked Harald, usually the priest who give some moral sentiment at the end of a sermon, he expected the same, presumably the three betrayers would be punished.

"At the end of what?" Master Vinothren said, seeming not to understand.

"The story! How did the gods punish them after?"

"Oh, well… about a hundred years ago Nerevar returned and killed Vivec, and Sotha Sil was driven mad, Almalexia killed him, and was herself killed by the returned Nerevar. Then Nerevar sailed to Akavir."

Harald nodded, that was proper, the gods had clearly punished Sotha Sil with his madness, and caused the others to be killed also. He'd never heard of Akavir, it was probably some other land that the Nerevar had decided to go conquer, or something of that nature.

"Now," Master Vinothren said behind him, "I think we will run for a while, hold on tight." And he spurred the horse forward.


	5. Chapter 5

_AN: I had a most enlightening conversation with PartyPat22 regarding summaries, and have subsequently updated this one to actually give people a reason to read the fic. As far as I know very few fics explore outside the game's boundaries, and even fewer cover the period between Oblivion and Skyrim, with most of those ones being Great War fics. While this will cover the Great War, it's also set considerably before that so we can explore some of the reasons behind the War. I want to actually give the Thalmor reasons for their actions, rather than just being the evil misandrist (in the definitional sense) elves. It would be helpful if you could comment on the new summary, as I don't want to have to rely only on readers from UV, but rather to build up the TES community of readers here._

 **-x-**

The miles passed by in a blur of stories and tales. As they passed Firebrand Keep Master Vinothren told Harald of Sir Byric, who set the lands aflame to hold back the invaders of the Reach, and how the Alcaire Knights, so moved by his valour renamed themselves as the Order of the Flame, and how they build a castle across the pass into the Wrothgarian Mountains.

"And beyond, 'Friendship Gate'" Master Vinothren laughed.

"Why do you laugh?" asked Harald.

"Because it only exists to stop the Orcs invading!" Master Vinothren laughed again.

They climbed into the Bonesnap Hills and Harald heard how Lord Steelheart had driven the goblins from the land, slaying their troll king Burgog the Hammer in single combat, and how Steelheart had raised a watchful tower called Hammerdeath over the tallest hill, Master Vinothren said from the top they might be able to see Wayrest and the sea.

It was just getting to dusk when the hills fell away to farms and pastures, the land levelling to a wide plain. Harald eagerly looked south but could only see some forested hills.

"Wayrest is over there." Announced Master Vinothren, waving vaguely in the direction of the forest. "Beyond the Stonechewer Forest and the Dreugh Lake, well, Wayrest is rather further east than the Lake, but from where we are now they are both south of us."

Harald nodded, determining to see these things for himself one day. The Stonechewers were a goblin tribe that Lord Steelheart had driven from the Bonesnap Hills, Master Vinothren said that most of them had been killed but some escaped to hide in the forest.

They rode a little way more, winding through the last hills, leaving the highway and turning off onto a smaller stone road going north.

"Had we the proper supplies to camp on the roadside we might continue down to Wayrest and camp tonight, it's not that far to go." Master Vinothren explained, "However I think the Pariah Abbey might interest you."

"I'm sure it will." Replied Harald as politely as he could.

The reply seemed to please Master Vinothren as Harald felt his hand on his shoulder, "There it is now." The elf said.

Harald looked and could only see a large grey blob on the horizon, one part sticking up may have been a church tower, but he couldn't be sure from this distance.

"You will recall young Harald when I mentioned 'irony' before, it is a term used to describe when something is amusing because the reader of a book or the watcher of a play knows some information that the characters do not know. Do you understand?"

Harald had some idea, but he was far from certain. He shrugged.

"Well, to use an example…" Master Vinothren said, pausing in thought, "If one character was in disguise and another character spoke to them as if they were someone else, this may be amusing to the audience as the audience knows the person is in disguise, but the other character does not."

Well that seemed to explain it more clearly. Things one person knew but another didn't were amusing, it seemed simple enough now Harald came to think of it. "Why is the abbey ironic?" he asked.

"Because of its history." Master Vinothren explained, "Presently, the abbey is a Benevolence of Mara, that is to say, the monks there worship the goddess Mara most prominently, they worship the other eight of course, but Mara is the primary god, the main god that is. However, they did not build the abbey. In the Second Ear, during the Banners War, a group known as the Midnight Union, a cult worshiping the Daedric Prince Vaermina, struck at the kingdom with a plague of nightmares."

Harald thought he could remember a story that had something similar in it, but none of the specifics of the story.

"Azura sent a vision to an Orc, I don't remember his name, who built the abbey and founded a monastic order called the Spirit Wardens to combat Vaermina's worshippers. With the help of Wayrest they overcame the cult and, having completed their task they deconsecrated the Abbey and departed, or so some claim. I've always suspected their patron tossed them aside as the Daedra are wont to do and the protection failed and they were driven back to their hovels and caves... In any case, sometime later Benevolences of Mara came and established themselves there instead."

"So it's ironic because the Dunmer worship Azura and the Abbey used to be used by worshipers of Azura?"

"Yes, but also because we were discussing the different races of Mer today. You see, the Orcs are commonly called so, particularly by Men, however they are also sometimes known as Orsimer, which means 'Pariah Folk' in the Almeri tongue, for Mer often avoid them as corrupt. They are a filthy and crude people, and see beauty only in warfare and the arts which support it."

They settled into an easy silence, birdsong being the only interruption.

The Abbey got closer and Harald saw the high towers and red tiled rooves of the cloisters. There was one long building, the church he though, that ought to be the most important building in a monastery. There was a square around a garden of trees and a few other buildings. First a low, wide hall with tall windows, and then on the other side of the garden a taller building, though not so tall as the church, which had three stories to it and many smaller windows. Harald thought that the first building was a meeting place, while the second might be where the monks lived. Other smaller buildings, never more than a single story were dotted about the Abbey, and fields and orchards went out in rings around the main collection of buildings.

Harald thought it was also quite ironic that for the second time on the journey he had seen the largest building in his life. Or at least he thought it was probably ironic, he was not quite so confident in its definition to make such statements. He supposed when they got to Wayrest that there would be many buildings in the city that were larger than the Abbey, he imagined that the King of Wayrest would live in a very grand castle, he was after all, a king. If Harald was a king he would have as grand a castle as he could manage.

"Now, Master Harald." Said Master Vinothren at length, "Where do you imagine the stables are?"

Harald had no idea, but, wanting to be helpful, "Perhaps we can ask someone."

"A very good idea!" laughed Master Vinothren, "That would rather cut to the heart of the problem wouldn't it?"

They wandered around the side of the Abbey till they came upon some monks labouring in the fields. The monks noticed them, and one stopped his work and came over to the fence which divided the green grass of the Abbey with the waving gold and specks of colour that was the wheat field and its wild flowers. As he approached Harald was surprised that the monk looked exactly like he would expect a monk to look, with a half-bald head and a ruddy face. Harald wondered if all monks looked the same, if they were staying at the Abbey perhaps he would find out.

"Fivefold blessings upon you!" called the monk, "I am Brother Marcus, do you have business with the Abbot?"

"Good day to you." Replied Master Vinothren, "Sadly we do not, we are on our way to Wayrest and I thought it would be a disservice to my ward not to visit such a storied place as this on the way."

"Well then we would be happy to have you." Replied the monk, "I will show you to the stables."

And he did, humming a merry tune as he walked before them.

The stables at the Abbey seemed far emptier than at the Traveller's Rest, but there were two other horses there, one very fine horse with a plaited tail and mane, and the other a smaller brown pony, which looked rather worn out.

After they stabled the horse Brother Marcus took them across the cloister to the guest rooms, a series of small stone cells, sparsely, but adequately decorated. Master Vinothren set their bags down on one of the beds and turned to the monk. "Are there any other guests at the moment?"

"Only one sir, Emeric of Cumberland."

"The Earl's uncle?" asked Master Vinothren in surprise, evidently having heard of the knight.

"Yes, he spends much of his time in prayer and contemplation."

"I'm sure he does." Said Master Vinothren with an unkind smile.

Harald thought Brother Marcus looked nervous, his face clammy with perspiration. "Supper is in an hour, forgive me, I must go see to my work." And the monk closed the door and shuffled off.

Harald went to sit on a bed, looking expectantly at Master Vinothren, clearly something was going on by the reaction the elf and the monk had had to the knight's name.

Master Vinothren had taken off his boots and cloak and lain down on the other bed, he turned his head and noticed Harald's expression. "Oh," he said, "There was quite the scandal a few years ago when the old Earl of Cumberland died, leaving his Earldom to his son. His brother, Sir Emeric, contested the will and the two fought a duel, Sir Emeric was in his prime and had served before in wars, while his nephew was twelve and a sickly boy. Emeric wounded him grievously and won the duel, but it was clear to everyone that Emeric had tried to murder his nephew. The boy was crippled, but Emeric seemingly had a crisis of faith and left the Earldom. I heard it whispered in Wayrest that he had been 'encouraged' to leave by the Duke of Gavaudon, but I didn't know he came here.

Harald wondered why Emeric had fought the duel in the first place, even if he had killed his nephew he would have still been known as a kinslayer, and surely his reign would have been cursed by the gods. The stories were full of such things.

"I will sleep for a while." Continued Master Vinothren, "Look around if you like, or not, do as you wish. Don't tire yourself out though, and don't bother the monks. They'll ring a bell for supper, when that happens follow whoever is around to the eating hall, I imagine we'll sit together at the meal."

"I'll go have a look at the church." Said Harald.

Master Vinothren waved him away and closed his eyes, putting his hands behind his head and making himself comfortable on the bed.

Harald left the room and wandered unhurriedly away.


	6. Chapter 6

_AN: So apparently TES:VI won't be out till the next gen of consoles, and that's got to be at least a couple of years away. PC master race ftw. It's good though in a way because I want write this and not have the new game come along and obliterate half my work with its new weird canon. Reviews on FF going strong, but you people on the forums should be saying something, it's an interactive medium, so tell me something you like or don't like, or perhaps a prediction or something you'd want to see. Either way, thanks for reading._

-x-

Harald walked out of the dormitory and through the cloisters. The trees were coming into their leaves and birds played and bathed in an ornamental pond in the centre of the garden. Harald thought it very peaceful, and a pleasant break from the excitement of his journey so far.

He wandered through the Abbey, looking all around him. Asking a passing Brother, he learnt that there were two churches there, or rather that one was an older chapel maintained out of tradition, while the other was the one mainly used now. He went to the older, thinking it to be the same Master Vinothren described in his story, and halted in front of the large wooden doors. They were closed, and Harald wondered if he should go in. Was it permitted? He didn't know, and didn't want to offend the monks when they had offered Master Vinothren and him a place to sleep and some food, just out of the kindness of their hearts.

In the end he decided to try the doors to see if they were locked, if they were then he would find somewhere else to go, if not, he'd go in, and check if anyone was about who he could ask.

The doors were very large, twice as tall as Harald at least, and had massive handles made of some golden metal. Harald doubted it was actual gold, which seemed a silly thing to make door knockers of, perhaps brass. Harald had to throw all his weight into pulling them open, he worried for a moment that they were indeed locked, but after a few tugs this proved not to be the case, and the door swung slowly open.

He only opened it a little way so he could slip through, there was not need to open both doors or to even open them fully, he was not yet a man grown, and quite thin.

Harald would later remember the nave of Pariah Abbey as a very beautiful place, and would admire the dedication that went into planning and constructing the building by whatever ancient order had first laid down the stones. However, as a child, and one that had until that day never even seen a stone building he was amazed and moved beyond words at the sight he beheld.

Great stone pillars with knights and maidens and monsters and saints springing out from carvings winding up them. A ceiling that seemed to Harald to be filled with jewels and stars, arches of stone that soared, as if suspended by the will of whatever architect had set them rather than by mortal means. Gold chalices and silver candlesticks and a high altar covered by a cloth of gold.

At the end of the church, wrought from iron and stained glass stood Mara, Mother of the Empire, a beautiful woman in a robe of emerald and a mantle of ruby, hair falling to her shoulders like a river of gold. The southern sun shone over the sea and through the glass, and Mara's halo burned like embers in a furnace. In her right hand was a knotted rope and in her left a silver wand.

Harald was overcome with a feeling that he could not name, he had not known that such things could be, and had never imagined that it was given to mortal Men to make such icons.

He suddenly felt very small.

The sound of the door opening jolted Harald out of his reverie. He turned so see a tall, strong looking man in plain robes. He was heading for the altar and Harald was in the way, so he stepped aside and sat on a pew, his legs dangling down without touching the floor.

The man knelt before the altar and gave a murmured prayer that Harald couldn't make out, and stayed kneeling, head bowed, hands on his knees.

Harald did not think the man was a monk, his hair covered his full head, and he simply did not have the peaceful demeanour of a holy man. He had walked with great purpose and long strides, his hands were very large and seemed the hands of a fighter not a farmer or a scholar as the monks were. Indeed, despite his stillness the man seemed greatly agitated.

Perhaps this was Sir Emeric, Harald thought it fit with the little he had heard. He thought the only way to find out was to speak to the man directly. Harald was intensely curious about why the knight had done what he had done.

"Are you Sir Emeric?" he finally asked, feeling somewhat sorry that he had interrupted the prayers.

The man looked up from his prayer, but did not turn to face Harald. "I am." He answered, his voice very rough, as if he had not spoken in some time.

"Can I ask you a question?" Harald asked, he had restrained himself from simply blurting his question out, it seemed very rude.

"You may." Replied the knight in his gravelly voice.

"Why did you fight the duel?" This seemed the most polite question, the alternative being 'why did you try to kill your nephew?'.

"Because I did not know the truth." Said the knight, and his voice was bitter.

Harald wondered what the truth was.

"They say that I did not know the Nine, not in my heart, and I worshiped falsely and did not keep them in my heart." Spoke the knight. His speech seemed like an inexorable river, never to be stopped or diverted but continuing on against any obstacle. "They say that I thought in my pride that I was more worthy than my kin and that I would please the Nine better as Earl. They say I lusted after my brother's lands and castle and looked beyond what the Nine had set for me. They say in my madness I raised my sword against my own kin and disgraced the knightly ideals I had sworn to obey."

"But if you're sorry, the Nine will forgive you." Said Harald in certainty, the priests he had heard had been very clear on that.

"I am not." Replied the knight simply, surprising Harald. "I have no regret for what I did, and you won't hear me say I fear Oblivion or am in terror for my soul." He looked up at the window, and the knight's hair shone in the golden light. "When you are a man," Sir Emeric continued, addressing Harald directly, even without looking at him, "You must always remember to trust in the Gods. All action come from faith, and whatever others say, remember your soul is your own, and you are its first guard and keeper."

Harald listened in wonder. The knight's voice seemed to him like the sea, which though he had never seen, he had always heard stories of. Men said there you could cross a country's breadth in a night, ever at the mercy of tide and wind. Harald felt like a sailor now, drawn about without control.

"Remember that justice is the first and last desire of all men, and that whenever you must make a choice, you will always know in that instant the right decision." Emeric said, "Choose, and bear the consequences, whatever they may be."

A bell tolled in the distance, jolting Harald out of his trance. He stood up. "I must go." He whispered, and fled back along the aisle.

The knight made no reply, bending to pray again. Harald was at the door when he heard Sir Emeric speak again, he turned, and saw the knight with arms raised to the stained glass.

"Fivefold blessings upon the lost and lovelorn. The Heart pumps the blood that connects us across the Aurbis. May Mara's grace always be upon me."


	7. Chapter 7

AN: Finally got around to finishing this chapter. Several crucial keys on my keyboard stopped working some reason, happily I have access to other keyboards, but still a most frustrating delay. Was going to write a slightly longer piece but I think this is sufficient, 3.5k is pretty average. You must forgive any errors due to the haste (and disruption) of the writing and also because I just want to get on with the story really and get things happening rather than wandering around having a child protagonist

* * *

Harald departed the Abbey with a strange feeling. The monks dined in a strictly enforced silence, and he had been disappointed not to be able to ask some of the questions he had. After though they'd gone back to their cell while the monks went away to their prayers, for they lived, in the words of Master Vinothren 'by the hours', whatever that meant. He'd lain awake while the sun rose remembering his conversation with the knight, thinking that something had been missing, but not knowing what it was, and so as he rode out with his Master he didn't mention it, not being able to put his thoughts into words.

Master Vinothren took his silence for tiredness, and they did not ride quickly, following the road as it went over hills and wound along a river.

"A great river, Bjoulsae, feeds the Illiac Bay, and in turn the Abecean Sea." Master Vinothren remarked as they went, "This is not that river, this is the Camber, also called the Windrush, which feeds only swamps to the south." he explained, gesturing with an arm to the river's progress. "It used to bend under the walls of Wayrest and formed a moat on one side of the city, but a king, Ruffe I believe, decided to divert it toward Aphren's Hold, which is a ruined fort, the old capital of Gavoudon. You will not know the significance of these names, but try to remember them."

Harald nodded, clearly knowledge of the kingdoms and rivers was of great importance in his new life. Likely, he thought, his father would have wanted him to know these things, as a soldier had to know where he was marching.

"Why was the river diverted?" he asked.

"That I do not recall, likely for some strategic benefit." Replied Master Vinothren, "Possibly King Ruffe wanted to deprive whoever was King of Gauoudon at the time of the fresh water, that is, to make it more difficult for him to get to it, you understand. It is far easier to order men to dig than it is to make them march to their deaths. Magni had a saying about that…" he trailed off.

Harald waited a while for him to continue, but Master Vinothren seemed to have forgotten about the sentence.

"Who's Magni?" he asked after a while.

"Your grandfather of course." Replied Master Vinothren, "Ah!" he exclaimed, "Yes I remember now, he used to say it was easier to find death-seekers than true warriors. Though he meant among the Nords I have no doubt. Thus, as I was saying, actually achieving the objectives of a campaign is far easier than fighting and dying."

Harald puzzled that over for a while. It seemed rather backwards to him. But he decided that he'd probably not understood Master Vinothren properly and resolved to ask him about it later.

They rode on further without speech, passing several small villages. Harald felt a strange superiority over those they passed, as while he had, only a few days ago, been in their position, now he was to live in Wayrest, and he hoped, to follow in the footsteps of his father and grandfather, who were, he did not doubt, very great men.

"It occurs to me," remarked his new guardian, "that perhaps I shouldn't assume knowledge of your family. Or rather your knowledge, I should say."

Harald turned back with some difficulty in the saddle. "What do you mean?"

"Well," replied the elf, "you said you thought your father's name was 'Ruarc' or something similar yes?"

"It isn't?" Harald asked in surprise.

"It _wasn't_." Master Vinothren clarified, "For he is dead of course. But even when he lived he rarely went by that name, or so I think. I certainly never called him it."

For some reason the news of his father's death did not surprise Harald, and it seemed to pass him by without note though he would think on it later.

"Names are not entirely simple things." Said Master Vinothren. "Your father was nicknamed 'Raudi', because he was swaddled in your grandfather's Legionary's cape, which was red, however your grandfather called him Hrodeker, which is an old name of one of the kings of Falkreath. However, he took Imperial service at a young age, and so wore a red cloak for much longer than your grandfather did, and so most who knew him in Wayrest called him 'Red Robert', which was the name most people knew him by, including myself."

"Why so many names?" asked Harald, most confused.

Master Vinothren laughed and continued: "You see, both your father and grandfather spent more time outside Skyrim than in it. Thus, they adopted the foreign forms of their names. To others, Mangi was Magnus, Magnus the Signifier after the battles in Valenwood."

"Then why should their names have foreign forms?" asked Harald.

"Because the Nords are great conquerors." replied Master Vinothren simply. "However, this is a discussion better had over a map, and I have several in Wayrest that would serve. Consider though... You no doubt wish to emulate your forebears; but recognise that your name is that which your father has given you. In his letter telling me where you were and that I should take custody of you, he referred to you by that name, which is how I found you. Therefore, do not be too quick to abandon it for the sake of convenience."

And indeed, Harald considered it most carefully. His guardian had found him first by his name, which Master Vinothren had just said, but also by his face, which he had told Harald bore great resemblance to his father's. Master Vinothren claimed he had his father's possessions in Wayrest, and that Harald would be given them in time, yet for now Harald had only a face and a name, and so felt great revulsion at the thought of discarding either. On the other hand, to be known by so many names was a fine thing, as it indicated great fame.

On they rode, till finally the road began to fill with people.

"Where have they all come from?" Harald asked, for since now the road had been clear, though wide enough for a dozen horsemen to ride abreast.

"By ancient law, the Kings of Wayrest have always demanded the rights to shipping in the Illiac Bay. Whether these demands have been respected is of course disputed, but because of its position, the city is able to draw trade from across the world. Its fleet is the largest in the Bay, and no other kingdom can match it for numbers or the quality of its sailors. In the old days of the Jewelled Republic when the city was ruled by an elected Prince, men would refer to the city as if it was a person, pledging their allegiance to 'Wayrest the Great', and indeed some of the older nobility still do. Thus, the merchants retain great power in the city, even though Wayrest's King is also the ruler of all Stormhaven. The King balances the interests of the country with those of the city, and when he makes concessions to one party, the other demands similar benefits. When King Reynold created the northern marches in preparation for a war than never happened the merchants demanded something for themselves, so the Reynold ordered all foreign trade in Stormhaven to be passed through the capital first, and then onward to its destination."

To Harald Master Vinothren sounded at once pleased and frustrated with the story. Though, as the elf directed their horse through the line of people going to Wayrest he frequently had to lead them through presses as the crowd grew thicker and so perhaps was upset by the comparatively slow progress they had been making. There was certainly not enough room to get up any speed in a run.

He realised however that Master Vinothren words explained his occupation. He, like those he spoke of, was a merchant. It had been clear from the start that Master Vinothren was neither knight nor mage, having neither the attributes nor bearing for either profession. The elf spoke with such familiarity on the subject that it seemed unlikely to Harald that he was simply an interested observer. Harald had many questions but restrained himself as Master Vinothren had mentioned an explanation later. Likely waiting till then would be better than asking now.

"How much further is it?" he asked.

"Not much. We would be there already if not for these delays. You'll be able to see the city from the next rise." Replied the elf, drawing the reins to the side and urging the horse forward past a wagon. "I'm rather wondering why all these people are going now. Wagons are only permitted through the gates for two hours either side of dawn, and half these people couldn't make it there in time."

"Why? And what will they do then?"

"Wayrest the Great has storied history and enduring dignity." Said Master Vinothren, "No one wants some fool trundling along with oxen through the streets. The city's always been a great centre of trade, and the craftsmen's districts and guildsmen had always been on the east side of the river near the docks, while the nobility and many of the churches are set up on the west side, where the ground rises into cliffs. The castle used to just be a lighthouse, then was steadily fortified, you can still see the foundations if you sail in close to the cliffs, which I'd not advise. People coming to the city to sell their wares like these men will have been travelling for a while, but now they've waited this long to get in they wouldn't be able to get through the streets anyway."

Master Vinothren waved a hand at another waggoneer, "Unless their wagons can fly and get through the gates in time they'll be turned back, they can either wait the night in Dreughside outside the walls or go across to Koeglin's Landing and travel by sea. It's a longer route, but at least they'd be in the city by the afternoon rather than by tomorrow morning."

Then he saw it.

As they came up a gentle hill a white spire began to appear, piercing up over the crest and the crowd's heads, and steadily rising further and further into the sky.

Around the spire came others, tall towers and fly buttresses, held up by beauty rather than by any planning, and soaring on both sides of a long gantry.

"That is the Grand Cathedral of Stendarr." said Master Vinothren. "He is the first god of this city, and the Lord Justiciar of Akatosh's court. His is mercy and forgiveness, and the righteous might to defend both."

And Harald saw Stendarr, as he thought the Viridian Sentinel of his childhood stories must have done. The god was arrayed in white, his hair aflame as a halo around his head. In one hand he held a sword, and in the other a cup, pouring golden liquid in a river from which tiny figures came to drink.

Harald saw Stendarr in the stained glass of the window, and knew if he were closer the figure must have been larger than a house. Dressed in fine robes and a golden belt, the god appeared as a mountain, a stream flowing from on high to the succour of his people.

"Your father's people call him Stuhn, he is the whale, and ruler of the seas, while in the old Aldmeri pantheon he is the Apologist of Man, ever forgiving of their faults." said Master Vinothren. He pointed toward another large structure. "That there is the old Palace of Justice, now serving as the Chironasium of the Mages Guild in the two towers you see at the top, the Royal Treasury in the vaults, and the chapter-house of the Vigilants of Stendarr on the bottom floors."

The walls of the city were also very tall, and their crenellations very narrow. Harald saw smaller holes where the guards feet would be, likely he thought, to send down missiles against any attacker, and he imagined the battles these walls must have seen. At even intervals stood large circular towers, with painted wooden mantles and draped with all manner of creature, bears, unicorns and griffins prancing and roaring on flags which hung from the towers. Above them all was a lion's head, roaring defiantly to the north, picked out in gold on a blue field.

As they approach a mighty gate, Harald saw that the road continued on, but then became cracked, with many of the stones missing or broken into pieces, scattered over an area of twenty feet. Instead, the travellers passed around the blackened area, on a much smaller and less well-built road.

"What is that?" he asked, thinking of no reason for them to go around the space.

"Do not look at it, nor think of it. Nor approach it ever, do you understand?" said the elf severely. "Look here instead, this is Northgate, one of the oldest parts of the city." said Master Vinothren instead, and he guided his horse as far as he could away from the blackened spot without leaving the road, so that they were on the very outside edge of the curve. Others followed their path, some clutching amulets and muttering to themselves.

"But what is it?" asked the determined Harald.

"A legacy of war and ancient evil." the elf said cryptically, "I will explain another time. But you must promise not to go near it."

Harald did, and Master Vinothren turned to the front again and they passed beneath the stonework of the gate, and Harald saw that on either side split in half was another lion's head, this time wrought in brass but no less impressive though a lesser metal.

"This gate is the oldest in the city, and one of the last parts of the old fortifications. A long time ago, the city was only on the western side of the river, along with the castle. I've read that there used to be a very old temple, possible one from the Direnni before Hoag Merkiller forced them out. That temple was built up on the cliff and a town grew up around it, with the ruler building his fortress down here on the plains and extended walls around the buildings. After the city expanded past the walls and across the river more walls were built, using the stone from the first one. Did you see how the gate was set inside the wall? To even approach for an attack an army would have to run between the extended walls and through a gauntlet, being attacked on both sides."

Further inside Harald saw another gate, this one smaller and built of a different stone than the first. It was smaller as well, and the doors there could only fit one wagon at a time, meaning there were a large number of angry merchants shouting in the courtyard between the two gatehouses, and looked to be more on the other side.

Master Vinothren however wound his way swiftly between the wagons and presented a paper to an official, who allowed them to pass immediately. "I must find out what's caused all this upset." murmured the elf as they ducked under the gate and went on.

The streets of Wayrest passed in a blur of colours and smells to Harald, and he knew not where to look nor what he saw. So many people walked to and fro, carrying or being carried themselves. He saw all manner of people, dressed in a hundred different colours and shades. He saw dour robed priests and rich men in jewelled mantles, all walking together with soldiers in bright mail and painted shields, alongside the poorer folk, labourers in old shirts and tattered boots.

In addition to the splendour of the people, their city was similarly excellent, with each building demonstrating great fortitude, even if none of them matched the Cathederal in magnificence. The roads were wide and paved with stones of many colours, especially on the larger streets, although on the smaller the stones were of more ordinary colour However, Harald saw that the stonework was no less fine for its lesser decoration. On either side of them there were workshops and houses of industry at the ground level, and Harald saw long corridors, some leading into foundries and others into storefronts, while the merchants and craftsmen, Master Vinothren explained, lived in the stories above, meaning that each day they could live and work in the same building.

From the old Northgate they moved south and east, toward the river and skirting the edges of the noble district where each house was a palace with servants and guards going to and fro.

"No one lives in those houses." said Master Vinothren as they went on by, "Instead the rural nobility keep them at great expense in case they ever come into the city. In the centre, do you see that leaning tower? That's the old palace's ruins. Wayrest was once ruled by the Dunmer, but they were overthrown by Good Queen Elysana. Truly named, but concealing another irony actually, Barenziah left Morrowind when Tiber Septim conquered it, and she returned when his descendants left."

On they went, and Master Vinothren told more tales as they passed other important sites. He spoke of the Highlanders and their decade long streak of victories in the Wayrest Arena, the ruins of which could be seen still, and of the Order of the Hour, knights sworn to Akatosh who had travelled to the city only a short time ago, but who now competed with the Vigilants for influence in the city and around the kingdom.

After a time, their road joined an even larger one, and Master Vinothren ordered their dismount.

"For only the Knights of the Rose who serve the royal household are permitted to ride here." he said.

The elf led him forward toward one of the large stone lions who stood looking each way as if real flesh, guarding the city.

"Climb up," said Master Vinothren, and he lifted him easily till Harald could take hold of one of the lion's paws. "And tell me what you see."

Harald climbed further up, now standing on the lion's shoulder and looking again. The road was long, several times as long as any they had travelled on before, and it seemed to stretch away across the city. To his right he saw the Cathedral's steeple standing proud from the rest of the city's buildings, and the twin spires of the Palace of Justice. In that direction he thought must be the nobles' empty houses, because he also saw a great ruin, half its roof caved in and its red stone walls blackened by soot.

"The ruined palace." he said, looking down at his master.

"Yes." replied Master Vinothren, "The Palace of Roses, now roses and all manner of plants grow all over it, for there are none to tend them. And what else?"

Harald carefully turned, his back to the lion now, holding on by his right hand to a ridge in its stone mane.

In the other direction above the heads of a multitude travelling all directions he saw a wide square with many fountains.

Harald thought it very beautiful, with the water shining in sunlight as it fell back down and making the banners on the square's edges gleam.

"If that's the Palace of Roses surely there is Rainbow Square!" he exclaimed.

Master Vinothren laughed. "A better name than any I've heard, but to most it's simply the Merchant's Plaza. Remember that though, because if I'm not at home you can find me there. I keep an office for my work under the mark of a rayed sun. Look for that mark if you should need me."

After that Harald climbed down and they went east toward the waterfalls. The crowd was busy, far busy and with far more people than Harald had ever seen, but he felt in a way already home as he followed in Master Vinothren's long strides.

"I have told you before about the importance of the merchants in this city. Thus, it has always been, since its founding and all through its history. Now you see it." said Master Vinothren as they walked, "This road has no name, but all know it as the axis upon which the city rests, as those carts we saw earlier rested on their own axes. At one end of the city you have the nobility and all their splendour and might, and at the other end the merchants who supply all that the city needs, all its food, its fine cloth, and the arms of its defenders. Neither party can act without the other, and if either acquires too much influence..."

"The axis topples over, like an overloaded cart." finished Harald.

"Exactly."


	8. Chapter 8

_AN: I'll admit it's somewhat hypocritical of me to continuously encourage reader engagement across the different forums this fic is posted on, but then not update it for several weeks at a time. However, I will continue to do so nevertheless. These remain the formative chapters of the work, and so feedback at this stage is much more useful than at other stages when events or characters are already set. The lack of updates remains a problem though. From my side it's because the current events aren't the interesting ones. There won't be any big battles for a while and I don't want to be stuck writing a child longer than is necessary. This solution of course is just to write faster and have more updates and so swiftly reach the more interesting parts of the fic. Y'know, with the dragons and stuff._

-x-

After turning off the great avenue the roads became much clearer. Master Vinothren said they'd turned into one of the residential districts of the city and further away from the Merchant's Quarter and were now moving east toward the river.

As a city, all that was new in Wayrest was built on the eastern bank of the Bjoulsae, or so Master Vinothren explained. Having come through Northgate they'd passed along through the older areas where now the most prosperous citizens of the city lived. However, Master Vinothren also explained a change in the people of the districts as they walked, the horse clopping happily along behind.

"I have told you that the city is divided, but not specifically how." Said Master Vinothren.

"By the river. And by the merchants and nobles." Replied Harald, though he suspected Master Vinothren had not meant it as a question.

"Indeed." Said the elf, "However, if the nobles now reside on the west bank and the merchants on the east, then why are both present on the western side of the city, as you have seen? You must not think that anywhere, especially a city, is unmoving…" he paused and thought for a moment, "Perhaps this is confusing to you. The city itself stays where it is, although, actually occasionally cities themselves do move, but usually not very far. Rather, the people change. Let me begin more simply. Do you see that black anvil on that sign?"

Harald followed Master Vinothren's gesture and indeed saw such a symbol painted below the sign of a potter's workshop. The sign hung over the road, jutting out from a beam to inform the passers-by of the nature of the shop. Harald had been admiring many such signs like it, which seemed so cluttered over the road as to block out the sky above, especially because the buildings got closer together as they increased in height. It was almost as if they walked down a long wooden tunnel and it was quite dark even though the sun had barely begun to set.

"That is the mark of Ebonarm. He was one of the great heroes of the Illiac Bay, just as Hoag Merkiller or the Underking are to your people. There's a large black anvil in one of the squares over the river which serves as a shrine to him. The Bretons and the Redguard Forebears worship him as a protective spirit, but in reality, it is merely a false translation of the Emperor Reman's cult that found root here. Just as the Marans called themselves Benevolences, Reymon Ebonarm's cult called themselves 'Battlelords', but really it was an excuse for young men to cause affray in the streets with running battles and feuds." Master Vinothren told him, and then was silent for a time. But after a while he began again, "I suppose what I want you to understand is that you shouldn't consider Wayrest to the composed of only certain sets of people. As I have told you, the Nords came down from the north in the First Era and fought the Elves and the Bretons. All of them fought the Orcs and the Reachmen, and later the Redguards and the Cyrods came up from the south and fought as well. Others, like myself and some others of the Dunmer, came here because of this fighting, and because of the great wealth of the city."

"I still don't understand." Said Harald, rather at a loss to comprehend all the names Master Vinothren was giving him to remember.

"Hmm yes I can see why." Replied Master Vinothren wryly. "You will do better once you can read a map. For now, simply try to remember that there are many people in the city and they all want different things."

Further they went and although Harald's feet had started to become sore he was animated by all the strange sights of Wayrest. All around there were still many people going about their business, though he had to admit they were dressed less splendidly than those who he had seen before, but even so there seemed the whole world all about them. Through more narrow streets they went with Harald rapidly losing his sense of direction and twice almost becoming separate from his guardian, only to be gathered with a gentle hand at his shoulder again to Master Vinothren's side. Eventually though they emerged out into sunlight again and into a wide square.

"This is…" began Master Vinothren, "Actually well it doesn't have a name, or at least one I know of. However, there is an interesting story attached." He pointed at a large mount of stones in one corner of the square. Below, between two of the larger stones, someone had set up a stall with a colourful awning. "That was once a wall, however, in a time of peace it was torn down and many of the people here made houses from the stones, because there was no use for them. Just after they'd finished though a war threatened, and it was ordered that the houses now be torn down and their stones made once again into the wall. However, the war ended as quickly as it had started so the stones have sat there ever since."

Master Vinothren led Harald to one corner of the square and down another narrow street before coming to a house with a red door. Unlike most of the houses they'd passed this one had a short stairway of only a few steps in front of the door, meaning that the first story of the house was set a few feet above the surface of the road. The walls, up to about two thirds up, were stone, likely from the wall Master Vinothren had shown them. Above that though the next floor, this time of wood and white plaster, staggered out over the street somewhat, ending above in a tiled roof.

"This is my home." The elf announced, "And now yours too." he pushed the door open, which did not seem to be locked, and Harald followed him up the stairs.

Inside was a short hall with a shallow depression in the middle. On all sides were stone wall washed a deep red which made the whole room look smaller than it should. Harald saw carvings in the corners as well as two stout wooden doors, one away from them at the opposite wall, and one off toward the right.

One door creaked, and three enormous lizards stalked out. Their garments were dark cloth, and each had a long snout with sharp teeth and a ridged nose. None had ears, but their eyes seemed to shine in the darkness as they came forward.

Master Vinothren spoke some words to them, probable in Elvish because Harald did not understand them, and the lizards hissed at them menacingly. Or rather, they would have if Harald had been at all scared, which he was not. Ordinarily the appearance of such creatures would be alarming, but for several reasons Harald was calm. Firstly, he thought it unlikely that Master Vinothren did not know the things were in his house, and the elf did not seem alarmed at all in any case, while secondly though the lizards had claws on their feet and hands, and sharp teeth, one of them was holding a wooden spoon, which rather ruined any effect of intimidation their appearance might have caused.

"Cassius, where is Corentin?" Master Vinothren asked, and the middle lizard hissed at him again. Master Vinothren heard his answer and frowned, "Indeed?" he asked, and stroked his beard. "When did he leave?"

Another hiss, this one longer.

"Hm. I will attend to it tomorrow morning." Master Vinothren said definitively, "Cassius, here is Harald Ruriksson, you will remember his father." And he put his hand again on Harald's shoulder.

All three of the lizards bobbed their heads on long necks, not quite a nod, but Harald nodded back all the same. Cassius, the middle lizard, hissed at him this time, teeth bared.

"Bretic, he has no Aldermis." Interrupted Master Vinothren.

Cassius looked first at the elf, then again at Harald, and hissed again, but this time his words were understandable: "Young Master." Came the sibilant hiss, drawing the second word out over several syllables.

"Cassius we shall take a light supper in my study, see to it. And to the horse also." Began Master Vinothren, turning away, "Come Harald." And again, the hand was on his shoulder.

Harald let himself be led along and as they walked through the house he again took in the sights and smells of the place. Like their journey through the city Master Vinothren's house was full of strange sites. They climbed a stone stairway up to the second floor, and went along a corridor, again with many doors which no doubt housed many mysteries. Harald saw that here the walls were washed blue, with something underneath that he couldn't make out. He thought to ask Master Vinothren, but before he could the elf was opening another door, which Harald thought must be at the back of the house.

"This is my study." Said Master Vinothren, "here, come sit." And he took a stool sitting against a wall and set it before a large desk, with a window behind it. Harald sat and looked about him. Master Vinothren had seated himself across the desk, and he looked down at Harald. "I will have to get a better seat for you." He remarked with a smile, and then cleared his throat and gathered himself. "Cassius and the others are Argonians, which I doubt you'll have seen before." He paused, and Harald realised he was waiting for a response. He shook his head. "Well," continued Master Vinothren, "Now you have." He looked down at his desk where a folded sheet of paper was resting. "This is letter your father sent me several years ago."

Harald's eyes fixed on it suddenly, abandoning the examination of the room. "What does it say?" he asked eagerly.

"It reports your name, and where I would find you, and states your father's desire that I care for you and see to your education in his absence." Explained Master Vinothren. "Your father died intestate, that is, he died without declaring what he wished to happen to his estate, and of course you, after his death. Despite the fact that he was a soldier, I had great trouble viewing it, as it had been kept by the Legion at Helgen, where it was made. There were a number of irregularities, such as your father having no son when the letter was sent."

Harald did not understand and said so. He was becoming quite frustrated in his ignorance.

"You were born, as far as I can reckon from the letter, several months after your father died."

"Tibedetha." Said Harald. "I was born on Tibedetha." For he'd always been very proud that he'd been born on the same day as Lord Talos. Or so he'd always been told. Naturally he didn't remember it.

"Really?" asked Master Vinothren. "Appropriate for the son of a Legionary. You were born on the 24th of Mid Year then. That's longer than I thought it would be." And he frowned again. "But a momentous day indeed, for the Nine restored the moons on that same day."

"Really?" Harald echoed Master Vinothren, for he hadn't know that.

"Oh yes." Replied Master Vinothren. "You should have heard the wailing made by all the Khajiit, they were howling till dawn, but enough of that, now, let me speak…" and he steepled his fingers, looking over them across the table. "Your father has placed me in guardianship to you. Some consider that to mean I should have a care for you till your twelfth year, but they are fools. I will consider you a man, and all my duties done when you reach twenty, as it is in Morrowind. In the meantime, I will teach you rhetoric, grammar and logic, as well as instructing you in the higher arts of history and philosophy. If I were only to teach you these things I would not fulfil your father's desire. However, I know far less of the martial pursuits than what your father would have taught you, nor of seafaring and poetry that your grandfather knew. As such you shall have tutors for all these and more so that you might do your family proud."

That being his most earnest desire Harald nodded earnestly.

"But you may be taught all these things and fail to truly learn any of them." Continued Master Vinothren. "As such I must give you a reason to learn. Come with me." And he stood and went the door.

Harald hopped off his stool and followed quickly after. They walked to a door just outside Master Vinothren's study, which had its own lock unlike many of the other doors. Master Vinothren withdrew another key from a pocket and quickly the door was open. Inside was a dark room, full of boxes and other strangely shaped objects covered in white cloths. At the end one stood out, almost a shrine. Much larger, taller and broader than Master Vinothren certainly. The elf approached it and drew off the cloth to reveal a large cabinet, this one without a lock, and only a small catch keeping it closed. He looked up at Master Vinothren.

"Your inheritance." Said the elf, and motioned for him to open it.

He did, and he saw that Master Vinothren had spoken true. Bands of steel like woven cloth and beasts and warrior wrought upon each piece. Bright mail, shining without light. A fine hauberk, gilded at the edges in gold, with a white belt of leather. Lying below it a red scabbard held a sword, and the hilt gleamed like night-spun moonlight, but was as black as jet.

"Here is the armour of Magnus the Signifier, taken from the Imperial treasury as plunder-pay when the city was taken. Here his armour, and here his sword. The same with which he slew Aerolor Camoran, Prince of Falinesti." Master Vinothren again laid a hand on his shoulder, "Do all you can to be worthy of it."

"I will." Harald promised. Promised Master Vinothren, promised his father and grandfather, and promised himself.


	9. Chapter 9

_AN: This chapter serves as the first of the actual chapters, where one might describe the previous work as an extended prologue. There's a rather violent acceleration of pace, which I hope will provide us with some impetus and prevent the narrative from dragging. Let me know what you think, as pacing is always important._

 _I don't like pulling people out of the story, and I dislike works that provide maps along with them for reasons of narrative purity, however many places are referred to here so you may find it useful. As with previous chapters, I'm attempting to establish a number of things which I will later build on._

 _This one only took like two weeks, most of which wasn't writing time. I should like it to be weekly updates of at least 4k, which I think is doable. I'll have to see what sort of chapters I'm writing though given some are obviously going to be shorter than others. If you have any thoughts on this feel free to share them._

-x-

Weeks passed quite quickly after Harald's arrival in Wayrest, soon turning into months.

He saw little of the city itself except for the area immediately around the square with the broken wall and Master Vinothren's house. But within the house the boy settled easily into the existing routine. His master would rise at dawn and spend an hour or so grooming himself. The Argonians (which by now Harald had just about learnt to tell apart) brought up buckets of hot water for the elf to bathe in and later to shave and attend to his beard (upon which the elf lavished great effort). After this Master Vinothren would go downstairs to the lowest level and break his fast, usually on food much similar to that which they'd eaten at the inn, comprising mostly of fruit, some honey, cheese and bread. Occasionally he would order food be cooked and the Argonians would lay on eggs and bacon or sausages which sizzled away over a stove.

Harald, often woken by the tapping of the Argonian's claws on the stairs as they went about their business, would leave his room and join Master Vinothren to eat and even over the small matters they discussed he learnt much. He would ask the elf about his plans for the day and was never disappointed by Master Vinothren's explanations, for he dearly wished to learn more about the wide world, having now realised his ignorance when compared with Master Vinothren's great knowledge of far off places as well as heroes and adventures of long ago.

The breakfast prepared him for the day and was always excellent and very filling, and prepared both guardian and ward for the day. Most mornings they would go up to Master Vinothren's study and as they had on the first day, Master Vinothren would sit with his back to the window and Harald on the wooden stool opposite him. They would speak of many things, or rather Master Vinothren would, and Harald would listen. The elf would tell him stories and Harald would dutifully commit them to memory, resolving every character, place or magical artefact of the tales, and particularly enjoying those stories Master Vinothren knew of his father's people, stories of Atmora and Ysgramor, or of the Talos Wars and the Brass God, striding across the land with its lord standing on its shoulder. Master Vinothren told of how the great Dwemer machine roared into the Blue Divide between Tamriel and the Summerset Isles, marching to the ruin of the elves, smashing through their magical barriers and striking the Harmonium Fortress from its perch on the cliffs of Isque, the sea boiling at its rage.

He learnt rapidly, or so Master Vinothren said. Harald did not disagree, but it felt less like learning and more like remembering. In any case, under Master Vinothren's tutelage he swiftly began to learn his letters in the Bretic tongue common across the Illiac Bay. However, Master Vinothren also began his instruction in Elvish, both the reading and writing of it, but also in the speaking, as he had wanted to better understand Master Vinothren and the Argonians when they conversed.

The mornings therefore went by with great speed and with each one Harald increased his knowledge. They would finish with a meal, and Master Vinothren would depart to the Waterfall Plaza, as Harald had begun to call it, to the great amusement of his master. He had accompanied the elf a few times on these journeys out, going to the office Master Vinothren kept at the square. Sometimes they would travel by the great axial road between the ruined palace and the square, other times, for reasons unknown to Harald, they would walk by narrower roads and emerge behind the office.

Like their house, Master Vinothren's office was full of Argonians. Cassius, the most distinctive of them with his red crest, was there often and Master Vinothren had set him to guard Harald, who had wanted to explore the square and surroundings. He'd never gone far but always returned with questions for Master Vinothren as they walked home. Other times he would pester Corentin, a rather nervous Breton in service to Master Vinothren as a clerk. While Master Vinothren predominantly saw to the many ledgers and books of commerce that the elf kept for his business, Corentin made the specific arrangements and saw to the collection of goods from the ships and their entry into several warehouses in dockyard districts.

However, Harald had yet to fully understand what it was that Master Vinothren did. While he certainly brought and sold goods at the docks, and kept ledgers of these activities that Harald had seen him pouring over, the elf also frequently mentioned meetings with a number of the merchant princes of the city. Master Vinothren and Corentin would discuss at length the affairs and requirements of one lord or another, sending Cassius out to deliver messages. When he'd asked his master regarding this he'd had a most unsatisfactory explanation including a number of words he'd yet to fully understand. Master Vinothren was, the elf explained, some sort of agent, which supposedly comprised a similar relationship between Master Vinothren and several of the city's merchants as there was between Master Vinothren and Harald himself. Truthfully, the boy understood little of it, a source of great frustration to him.

Indeed, it was due to his lack of understand and ignorance that Harald pushed himself further to divine whatever meanings the strange letters held in the many books of the house. When he wasn't out exploring the streets around he would pester Cassius or one of the others to teach him, or to at least read one or two of the words he hadn't yet learnt. The Argonians were happy to oblige him, though invariably they had their own duties to attend to, but Harald still learnt well, even if their sibilant speech was difficult to understand when spoken by an alien mouth. Steadily though he felt less and less ashamed whenever he failed to understand something Master Vinothren said, and even the maps had become easier to remember for him, invariably because Master Vinothren illustrated some historical journey or the movement of an army between two cities.

When he was left alone, he would gaze at the maps, tracing his fingers along their coastlines. It was very strange to him that only a short time ago he had no conception of the wide world and his place in it, yet now he was able to track his journey from Alcaire down the King's Road and eventually to Wayrest the Great. He could see the different regions of Stormhaven, as well as the kingdoms that surrounded it, and was quite surprised at the size of different places that he'd heard of, both in stories and in the teachings of Master Vinothren. Wayrest sat at the base of the peninsula of High Rock, which, he was told by his master, was properly called ' _the'_ High Rock. Where the province sat as if the sleeve of a shirt, the city was the seam connecting it to the rest of the cloth, serving as the largest city, though not perhaps the greatest storied.

And it was with stories that Harald travelled beyond his room. Where the walls were bare he hung the maps Master Vinothren had given him, and he brought small stones and bits of broken tiles to serve as markers. Larger rocks were cities, smaller ones armies and sometimes ships in a fleet, with one rock which looked like a horse's head always being the mighty lord on a great horse who would come and besiege whatever evil lay within.

Master Vinothren found him at it one day, stones spread out all across his room's floor. The elf had laughed and when he'd finished he sat down and played at being a general. He took one side of the stones and Harald the other and they fought with blocks of knights and footmen, all just lumps of stone. Later his master had begun to teach him mathematics, and in the beginning, Harald hadn't even known it was happening. Master Vinothren would ask how many companies were represented in an army, and if there were such a number in one company and a different number in another, at what number would they stand if they combined under one captain? Thus, Harald began to learn many of the high arts that Master Vinothren had promised to teach him at the same time. Harald heard of Sir Byric and the Knights of the Flame, once the knights of his own home, Alcaire. Sir Byric had burned the fields to chase away the Reachmen, and had ridden through the flames, his lance couched, striking through the invaders. Master Vinothren's question about him to Harald had been the specifics of Byric's formation. If the knight's formation grew thicker by two men each row, how many would Harald find in the 12th row?

Harald had given three wrong answers to that, and though Master Vinothren told him his errors were of little consequence, Harald knew he must be disappointed. Later he used the collected rocks to work it out, the horsehead stone representing Sir Byric. He didn't have enough for the whole formation but he managed it eventually by marshalling the rocks in smaller numbers, where every stone was three men instead of one.

It grated at Harald's patience that he was continually behind, or he seemed so at least. Master Vinothren had no harsh words for him, and in fact would smile and nod during their discussions, telling the boy he was doing well. The elf's words always cheered him, but never so much as when Master Vinothren would tell him some short story of his father. Master Vinothren explained how Harald's grandfather Magnus had learnt Sir Byric's story first, and related to his son, who in turn told Master Vinothren. When Harald sat and heard the story from Master Vinothren it was as if it was his father telling him, not the elf.

Each mention of his family aroused strange emotions in Harald. At once he felt both happy and sad, welcoming any news of how his fathers had lived or who they had fought, yet also being overcome with a great melancholy, a loneliness and a longing for a familiar embrace or a kind word that Master Vinothren seemed not quite to fill. This feeling came most whenever it rained, for in the rain Harald thought he heard the sea, its crashing waves and the cries of the gulls as they danced on the wind. He remembered how excited he'd been as they approached the city to see the sea, so witness that which had carried his father's into war and fury. At night in particular Harald could hear it, a low roar, not a crash but a murmur of water over the sand. It would reach him, passing over the city and through the streets, drifting through the night air and bringing with it the salt smell that he'd now become familiar with. Sometimes he would wake from dreaming and stand by the window, shutters open, looking out at the stars and imagining that he stood on a ship with his fathers.

Harald voiced this want one day while they broke their fast. That morning it was fried eggs, tomatoes and slices of a sort of root which Master Vinothren had not named. The elf was in fine mood and ordered mustard to the table, which Harald took with suspicion as he'd previously eaten too much of it at once on a different morning and felt like he'd eaten a coal from the fire.

"Certainly, you might come to the docks." Master Vinothren had said, "But you wouldn't see much from there. Just the other side of the city. From any point within the walls, even if you were to stand at the top of the Cathedral's steeple or the highest tower of the castle, you'd just see a very wide river."

"Not the sea?" Harald asked in confusion.

"What is the difference between a sea and a lake?" Master Vinothren asked him. "The Bjoulsae flows out of Lake Halcyon, fed by the meltwater off the Druadachs. It joins the Wind River, in turn fed by the Wrothgarians peaks and they both flow into the Illiac. Just like Lake Halcyon, the Illiac is hemmed in and forms one continuous body of water, separated by eternal law from other seas. The Illiac Bay is a sea because its taste is bitter and salt. Just like the Eltheric Ocean beyond Dagger Rock. At all large meeting points between seas and rivers there exist lines, clearly visible where the river becomes the sea. They stand apart as if a wall between them. It is truly a miracle." he saw Harald's frown plain on his face. "You will see this later. For now, you may come with me today. I am meeting with several of my captains regarding an expansion toward the northern ports."

Harald thought quickly, "Koeglin?" thinking of the only significant port on this side of the High Rock.

Master Vinothren beamed, "Yes indeed! Now I'll be very impressed if you can tell me why?"

Harald thought some more. Koeglin had been one of the routes Master Vinothren had considered when they rode down from Alcaire. From his study of the maps he knew it saw as far north as you could sail without simply sailing around the whole of the province. He looked up, "You said sea travel was faster than land."

"It is," replied Master Vinothren with a small smile, "Most of the time. It takes about a month to get from Solitude, the most western port of Skyrim, to here. That's by ship, and by a good ship. There are many hazards though, not least of which is Shipwreck Cove, which one of the many places whose names need no explanation. If I can get goods upriver from Northpoint then I can have them on barges through Rivenspire and they would only need to come by land till they can join the River Alcaire. If I can dispatch ships from Koeglin I can remove a week from the journey." the elf sat back. "The main problem is arranging it all. A ship's captain can depart Solitude's dock with a hold full of cargo and be largely unmolested as he travels, Northpoint might charge if he stops there, and there's always dangers of pirates, but he's his own master and can travel well enough on his own without anyone needing to be aiding him. If my ships travel on land instead there's a whole host of necessaries, from caravan guards against Orcs and witchmen to the fodder for oxen. On the other hand, ox-drivers would only pay the charges of the King of Shornhelm, and nothing at all in Wayrest because I live here. At the moment the Kings of Daggerfall and Sentinel charge a double toll to any merchant of Wayrest passing Dagger Rock."

Master Vinothren mused to himself for a little while longer as he finished off the last of the food. Shortly after they set off towards the river, with Harald again taking in every sight he could. They were a party of four, Master Vinothren, Harald, Corentin and Cassius. The elf led them, walking with an easy stride along the middle of the road. The sun was bright and hot, but Harald, far less extravagantly dressed compared with his master, had a straw hat to keep it off his head. As he understood it the country of Morrowind was also very hot, hot enough for fire to leap from the ground in any case. Harald thought that was likely where Master Vinothren's resistance to heat came from, for though he wore a heavy doublet embroidered with dark thread he seemed not to sweat. His boots like his clothes were a deep burgundy and they too looked thick and hot, but Harald knew they were well made. Comparably Corentin wore a lighter tunic, also worked with thread into patterns, but with less elegance than Master Vinothren's. He also wore a longer shirt on underneath and a knotted belt. Cassius wore even less, with only a loose shirt and a leather waistcoat about his broad shoulders. His hose was much the same make as Corentin's, though much wider because of the shape of his legs and coming to an end above his clawed feet which clicked quietly as they walked.

All together they made a curious group as they arrived at the docks, but once there the distinctiveness of Master Vinothren's clothes and of his attendant Argonian was less apparent, because of the great profusion of different people going about. Whereas near their home the people were mostly pale and employed in crafting various things and in other trades, toward the docks many of them were darker in aspect, with Redguards and Imperials being more common. At first Harald didn't notice this, but rather saw the difference in the clothes of the groups. Where the Bretons for the most part wore layered clothes and rarely adorned them with rich colours or patterns, these men nearer the water wore long elaborate tunics and wide trousers, with few wearing any sort of shoe. Both men and women wore jewellery, and for the most part it could be seen in their ears rather than on their fingers or around their necks as the Bretons did. He looked up at Corentin and asked about it.

"Wayrest is home to people from all across the world." Replied the man, "Do you think Master Vinothren would dress as he is now if he were back in Morrowind? You must ask him later if he's, or should I say if he was, Hlaalu. They were always the most friendly to Men, it is said."

Soon they came to a large brick building with many windows. Within there were lines and lines of shelves with a variety of barrels and large boxes. On one side Harald saw a few dozen amphora, similar to one he'd seen in the kitchen at home in one of the cupboards. A group of men were waiting within. For the most part they had the pale countenance of Bretons, but like the city itself, there was a significant proportion of them from other lands. As Master Vinothren approached they took off their hats or touched their foreheads in deference, bowing slightly.

"My friends!" said Master Vinothren grandly, "I am pleased that we may meet." He touched Harald's shoulder and brought him forward, "Here is my ward Harald, the son of Red Robert."

This time the men bowed to Harald, but soon they were in conference with Master Vinothren and followed him deeper into the warehouse, Corentin following on their heels, juggling several ledgers he'd been carrying in his satchel.

Harald, supervised by Cassius, was left to his own devices. He wandered about, looking in any box he could get the lid off. He considered going to the amphoras, but he was also lacking any means to break away their seals without damaging them.

On one shelf he found crates with bolts of cloth, mostly wool, and also a number of strange wooden objects about three feet in length he could see no obvious use for but were no doubt valuable for some purpose which had been stacked against the wall. On another shelf, a series of smaller wooden boxes, all of which had belts around them holding them shut. Carefully Harald brought one down and sat on the floor with it, fumbling at the buckle and eventually undoing it enough to get the box open. Inside there were scarlet rocks, incredibly red, as if crystal fire.

"Be careful with that Young Master." Said Cassius, coming close and crouching down next to him. "Do not touch it."

"What are they?" Harald asked, for they were very beautiful.

The Argonian made that strange undulating noise that seemed to mean several different things depending on the circumstance, Harald had yet to work out which, and touched one of the crystals with a claw. "This one does not know the name in this language, but in the High Tongue they are Embrothian Stones."

"What do they do?"

Cassius nudged one crystal to the side and drew his claw along the seam of the box, collecting a small amount of red sand underneath his nail. He picked it out with another claw, and then with a violent twitch of the hand he flicked it into the centre of the hall, where it erupted in a shower of sparks and hissing.

Harald started back with a cry, almost dropping the now dangerous box as he flinched. He looked down and immediately closed the lid, fastening it tight with the belt and putting it back on the shelf. After that he kept away from that side of the room, and didn't even try to touch the rest of the crates on the other shelves, instead going out the doors and sitting in the doorway.

"This one knows they have uses in reagents and by wizards." Said Cassius, coming up behind him and leaning against the wall.

Harald sat, recovering from the surprise and watched the people pass in the street for a time. Soon though voices could be heard behind them and Master Vinothren and Corentin came up again, having finished their discussions with the captains.

Where Cassius had thrown the dust and it had flared up the elf stopped, sniffing at the air. "What is that?" he asked himself.

Harald got up "I found it in there, Cassius threw some to show me what it was."

"What's this?" Corentin said, agitated, "You found it here? Embrothia?"

"Yes in the box." Replied Harald and he pointed to the shelf.

Master Vinothren's face grew rather pale and he turned to Cassius, speaking too swiftly to him in Elvish for Harald to understand more than a word in ten. Cassius replied with hisses and took one of the boxes, demonstrating what Harald had done in taking off the belt securing it closed and showing the two the crystals within. Then Master Vinothren spoke again to Corentin, still in the rapid Elvish that he fell back on whenever he was in haste. Corentin nodded through the discussion, and then went off walking swiftly back into the warehouse.

Harald was quickly ushered outside. "You did very well Harald." Master Vinothren said to him.

"I did?" he asked.

"Indeed, Embrothia is exceptionally dangerous. It shouldn't have been stored like that." The elf took off his hat and smoothed a few hairs back into place. "Even sunlight can set it off. Corentin is going to find out why it was stored thus and make sure it never happens again." Master Vinothren breathed out slowly in a sigh of relief, "Well, at least you found it when you did rather than in a week when it would have broken down."

"Cassius said the wizards use it. Are you selling it to them?"

"By the Nine no!" laughed the elf, "Never trust a mage with anything remotely volatile. I heard once a Chironasium burned down when Infernacian crystals like those were improperly prepared. No, I import them from Solthsteim and sell them to smiths."

"For their forges?" Harald realised.

"Yes indeed, well done my boy." Said Master Vinothren with a smile. "The crystals are mixed with iron filings and salt water and left for several months, then evaporated, leaving only an infused salt that burns with exceptional heat and regularity. It's very useful for use in forges to get higher temperatures that are easy to maintain. However, speaking of salt, I believe I promised you a look at the sea?"

Harald eagerly nodded, all fear at the exploding crystals forgotten and they walked south to the harbour. Along a wall they went, further toward the shore, the salt taste strong in the air. Harald hadn't noticed by the sun had started to set. Like the crystals in the box it shone red like fire, lighting the street and houses around them so that the brickwork blazed as if fresh from the kiln.

Master Vinothren led Harald through smaller alleys and finally they somehow emerged out of the city. Harald had lost sight of the wall as they'd travelled through the streets, and he supposed they must have crossed it somewhere. Perhaps like back at home, here the people had torn parts of the wall down for the stones.

"A little bit further." Said Master Vinothren, "Look, here is the sea wall."

And indeed Harald saw green stones rising up above the houses, which here were rather small and squat. Before the wall there were large boulders, curving out into the great Bjoulsae. Master Vinothren took him under the arms and lifted him easily onto the stone, and then himself took a different route.

"Come, follow me and tread where I do." The elf said, and set off, clambering over the stones. Harald followed, climbing or throwing himself up the sides of the stones his master with his longer legs could merely step over. Everywhere there seemed to be green algae which proved treacherous when Harald tried to take a different route from Master Vinothren, as he slipped and grazed his knee after stepping on a patch of the stuff and finding no purchase there.

Eventually though he could hear the rush of waves on the other side of the rocks, and Master Vinothren climbed to the top of one large stone, ascending out of the gully they'd been walking along between the rock wall and the proper harbour stones. Not without a graze and a bump to his elbow Harald followed him up, with the elf lifting him the final stretch, easily bearing Harald's weight on one arm as he pulled the boy up.

A blaze of light greeted him as he stood with Master Vinothren above the water. A thousand crests, each one shod in gold, as if the hooves of a thousand noble horses prancing across a silver field. The sun broke over the waves as the waves themselves broke into white foam, crashing over the rocks further along the sea wall and spraying between them with a wash of water. As far as he could see the Illiac Bay stretched off into the distance. He couldn't see Hammerfell which he knew sat on the other side of the Bjoulsae but he saw many ships coming from all places. The cogs and cargo-bearers like cows of the sea coming filled with spices and cloth destined for warehouses like Master Vinothren's, escorted by the sleek galleys of the royal fleet, their lion standards shining in the sun, gold on blue.

" _What hand drives the oar?_

 _What sword comes from your depths?_

 _Men who stride the whale-road,_

 _And gods who watch their steps..."_

The words were softly spoken, yet they pulled at Harald's soul. He looked up.

"Magnus loved the sea." Said Master Vinothren, staring out at the sunset. "He would go out sailing, even in storms. He never fell from the ship, and whenever he was at the tiller the waves would break before him and lift the whole ships as if they wanted to carry him."

Harald saw one ship, a small fisherman's boat with a single sail, just coming in, one man at the rear hauling in the last of a line.

"He spoke those words as he sailed to the relief of Falinesti." Continued Master Vinothren, "They fought a great battle with the Altmer at the city's Harbour-Gate, I heard them say that the Imperial ships had to be overturned for cover against darts and magic from the city, and that when they attacked they bore their longboats above their heads to shield themselves. "

"I thought my grandfather killed a prince of that city?" asked Harald, remembering that dark room and the bright mail on a stand.

"He did." Said Master Vinothren, "It was a complicated time."

Harald smiled as he stood there, looking out to sea, thinking again of his fathers. He felt Master Vinothren's hand on his shoulder and smiled. It had been a good day.


	10. Chapter 10

_AN: First I combined two different chapters to save time, now I've split them apart again. Remember to post or review, always interested to see what people think about the writing._

-x-

" _And swiftly Syran came upon the…_ " Harald stopped, puzzling over the word.

"Quiralines."

"… _upon the Quiralines, and though their ships were strong, and covered in bronze plates, his were faster, and the Sea-Mage struck at their oars and rode his serpent through their battle lines, till all the enemy were scattered and fleeing_."

"Very good." Master Vinothren said from behind him, "But try not to use your finger to pick out each word."

Harald nodded, but then looked back, "Why are they called that?"

"The Quiralines? Because they were used by the Altmer settlers around Torval and the Quin'rawl Peninsula, in the south of Elsweyr. The land gives its name to the people, and afterwards to the particular type of ship they use in the Topal Bay."

"But it was Topal the Pilot who sailed the Nibenay and around Tamriel, not 'Torval', why are there two names?" Harald moaned in frustration.

"Because many things occur in history which are confusing to many people who were not there to see them happen… and indeed may still be confusing to people who were there and witnessed the event." Explained Master Vinothren, "Look here," he said, tapping the illustration of Syran atop his sea-serpent mount, "Syran comes from Syrabane, the Aldmeri god, therefore he would likely be Altmer. However, he rides a mount he supposedly took from the Maormer. In all likelihood, and according to other historical records, he's actually a Sea Elf himself, and is fighting in Topal Bay for other reasons. Similarly, given he was (according to his book) born near Helmdar he might also be Bosmer. Any of these three explanations, or a combination of several might explain who this character is. Thus, there is no true answer here. You must remember that when reading. You've learnt well, but don't necessarily believe everything just because some scribe's put it in a book."

Harald thought for a moment, "What do you think?" he asked, for he'd found it was often the case that Master Vinothren would recite a variety of knowledge when asked his opinion.

"Altmer." Said Master Vinothren immediately. "Helmdar was conquered slightly before this book was written with the implication being that Syran is the child of Altmer settlers there. Similarly, during this time tensions between Pyandonea and the Summerset Isles were rising, so the author of the book likely wishes to demonstrate the ease by which the Maormer weapons may be turned against them if captured by loyal Altmer." He took the book lightly from Harald's hands and closed it, the blue scales of Syran's armour covered by page and heavy cover. "Now to bed young Harald, I have business to attend to in the morning but I'll be back before noon. You'll have to amuse yourself till then."

And indeed, Harald was tired, stifling a yawn as Master Vinothren walked with him to his room. He put the book, one containing many elvish legends, down with several other Harald was working through on a small shelf he'd been given by his guardian. To his great pleasure, he could now read, as well as speak Aldmeris well enough to rarely need help, and so often Harald found himself reading in his room, replacing the books he'd finished with new ones from Master Vinothren's study. Eventually the elf had tired of interruptions and moved one of the shelves over.

"You've yet to draw Pyandonea here I see. And the Isle of Artaeum is rather too far to the west."

Harald looked up. Master Vinothren was standing by a large sheet he'd given Harald when the later had complained at the lack of maps. Master Vinothren had many, but the larger ones were very valuable so he'd been reluctant to give Harald one of them simply to play with. A compromise had been reached, and the elf had rigged up a small pulley system over two hooks so that Harald would raise and lower the sheet as he pleased and draw a map instead. Whenever he wanted a new canvas he would take the sheet to wash in the fountain outside their house and bring it back, ready for a new drawing. Master Vinothren approved, saying that by drawing it himself he'd likely learn the places quicker. He went to examine it now, joining Master Vinothren and puzzling at the comment.

"I thought it was south of Auridon." He said, pointing at the smaller of the two islands that made up the home of the Altmer.

"It is, but it's also much further east. Instead of being under the middle of the island it should be under its most easterly point. Having said that it's not there anymore. It disappeared a few years ago they say."

"Where did it go?" Harald asked in amazement.

"No one knows, likely the Psijics performed some sorcery."

Master Vinothren examined the map some more as Harald got into bed. Harald thought it was a rather good map, and he was proud of it, though apparently he'd gotten some small details wrong. He was considering asking for one of Master Vinothren's better maps to copy but the elf spoke before he did.

"I see you've marked the route via Kogelin?"

Harald nodded, "Yes, quite soon after you explained it. I was trying to see whether it would be faster."

Master Vinothren hummed at that, but made no reply.

"Have you started sending things through there yet?" Harald asked. A few months ago Master Vinothren had sailed up to the town, he'd left Harald behind which he'd been annoyed about so he'd stayed for two days on his own in the house… along with the Argonians of course.

"No." replied Master Vinothren, "Such things take months. You remember Lennart?"

Harald did, a large man, one of the captains of Master Vinothren's ships, and had twice joined them for a meal when Harald had joined Master Vinothren and Corentin in going to the warehouse. He got the impression Lennart had been the chief, or at least one of the highest of the captains Master Vinothren employed, but to be sure he asked his master.

"Yes that's right." Replied Master Vinothren, "He's investigating a variety of issues in Solitude, which, by the way, is also in the wrong place on here. In fact, what's today? The 16th? He should be there by now. You must beware though; you sound almost like a Breton when you speak like that."

"Like what?" Harald asked baffled.

"With these disgusting inflections from the mongrel-folk down by the river. Where've you been picking them up from? Certainly not Corentin, his blood is good." Master Vinothren mused, "Perhaps I must teach you an accent as well."

Harald was confused and quite upset, he'd though his Elvish was good, he'd been imitating Master Vinothren after all and the man spoke very clearly, making the language sound very fair.

"Harbour talk is all well and good for the wharfs, but if you speak to a sea captain from Firsthold he won't know what you're talking about if your using words from Sentinel." But then the elf smile and patted his head, "Don't concern yourself with it, you're an intelligent boy, I have no doubt you'll easily learn it all."

He slept easily that night. Imagining himself as Syran atop a sea serpent. The dreams were very strange because sometimes he rode above the water and sometimes below. He'd forgotten to ask how the serpents actually swam. Perhaps he'd ask tomorrow. Galleys and warships sailed through his thoughts. The wind was behind him, the salt spray on his lips and the cries of gulls in his ears.

When he woke Master Vinothren was nowhere to be found and until Harald remembered his words the day before he was somewhat concerned, the only thing preventing any true worry being the unflappable attitudes of the Argonians. He breakfasted himself on bread and olives, cutting an orange carefully as he'd no wish to get the stinging juice of it into a cut he'd made by accident on a finger. After that he went to read for the rest of the day. It was sometime after midday when he looked up at the door.

"Corentin? What are you doing here?"

"I'm in search of Master Vinothren." The Breton explained. "Is he not here?"

"No, still out, wasn't he with you?"

"No, at the Palace."

"Really? What for?"

The Breton shrugged, "I don't know specifically, I just know that he went with a company of other merchants. He mentioned it to me but I didn't think his business would take this long. Perhaps we should go wait for him there."

Harald hadn't yet visited the hill the other end of the great road running down the middle of Wayrest, joining the fallen palace and the merchant's square, so he eagerly responded and they set off.

"I suspect Master Vinothren is fulfilling his duties as an advisor to the New Blood." Continued Corentin, "Has he explained them to you?"

Harald told him no.

"You must know that Master Vinothren is a man of high knowledge, old enough and wise enough that he can move before other man have even thought to do so. That is part of the reason he's been so successful, though I've often heard him say your grandfather, the Nord, was responsible for some of it. You see, while Master Vinothren is a merchant, and a good one, he's also what's called a fiduciary. He acts as a trusted party for the resolution of various issues, and uses the trust men put in him to advise them regarding any concern they might have. In essence, he acts on their behalf. The New Blood, the merchant lords I should say, occasionally visit him. As I understand he's gone with them to up to the hill."

Harald felt no surprise, he agreed entirely with Corentin's assessment of Master Vinothren, and had always been amazed at the breadth of knowledge the Dumner was able to draw forth on any subject and seemingly without needing to recollect for any time beforehand. Certainly it was proper for men to seek him out for that knowledge.

They walked through familiar streets. Corentin didn't have the strength of character Master Vinothren had, and so unlike when Harald walked with the elf, who strode along with great purpose and rapidity. Here he and the Breton had to cross the road or step to the side of others passing quickly along. Quite quickly though they turned away from the main road and off up the hill toward the top of the white cliffs of Wayrest, passing the Cathedral and other large and grand houses on their way up. Harald started as they passed and turned to Corentin, "I thought you said Master Vinothren was at the palace?"

"No of course not." Replied Corentin. "It's been a ruin for a hundred years."

"I'm sure you said the palace."

"Well, I suppose I might have, but no, he's at the castle. I wouldn't describe it as a palace, its far more fortified than one should be, but perhaps I misspoke." Explained Corentin, "You know the Palace of Roses was destroyed when Queen Barenziah was chased away? Well due to the uncertainty of their rule the subsequent kings and queens have held court in the Cliff Keep away up there."

"It must be very small." Remarked Harald, for he should be able to see it by now if it was a castle, and also on a hill.

"Squat yes. It used to be a castle as I say but they've subsequently added many buildings next to it on all sides. Kitchens, armouries, courthouses, all sorts of things."

They crested the hill, coming to a long set of steps. The stonework there was much different from that around them, so that while the Cathedral, the spires of the Palace of Justice and the houses all around them were of brightly decorated and painted the steps were a uniform dark brown, almost red... It was an ominous thought, but it almost seemed as if some great slaughter had been committed at the top and the blood had run down and dried in the sun.

At the top Harald saw a large plaza. At one end, right before them he saw the castle, or what must be it at any rate. Like buildings around it's stonework was very fine and well cleaned. As Corentin had said however it did almost appear squat, with towers and stone buildings leaning against it like drunken sailors at the docks.

All across the plaza, vaguely along the edges but seemingly without any sense or art stood several hundred statues. There seemed to be no plan to them, and each stood facing a slightly different point, some pointing swords or tridents at a few obelisks in the middle of the square, others facing out to sea or accusing their fellows with cold stone fingers.

"The statues yes." Remarked Corentin, "I can't stand them. It's their eyes." And he sneered at them. "Master Vinothren is far more knowledgeable about them than I. He could probably tell you the story of each one. He has rather strong opinions on this place."

Harald looked at him, "What sort of opinions? Doesn't he like them?"

"No he likes them well enough, but he says the place is lousy with history. You might ask him about the Imperial City, he's been there a few times but as I understand it he never likes to stay there."

"He told me it was the greatest city in the world!" protested Harald.

"No doubt he did, and no doubt it is." Replied Corentin, "But that doesn't mean you have to like it. It's the largest in the world, likely the most populous, almost a millions souls in one city… The richest as well, for it sits in the centre of Tamriel and all the wealth of the world flows into Lake Rumare. All you need do there is go out and go fishing and you'll pull up some ancient crown worn by Reman, or so they say."

He saw Harald's continued puzzlement and turned to gesture at the statues. "Imagine this, but across a whole city. Every street has a temple a thousand years old at the end, every time you dig a hole for the foundations of a house you unearth graves and sacrifices from ages past. Whenever you step out the door you trip on the gravestone of an Emperor. The place is lousy with history." He repeated.

Harald looked around him once more, trying to put himself in the place of Master Vinothren as if the elf were there. At first he felt nothing, but slowly a sense of outrage grew on him, that all these fine statues had been essentially discarded here for little reason, while the rulers of the Jewel of the Bay lived in such squalor, in such an insignificant castle with no majesty or pride about it. He thought of all the fine stories Master Vinothren had read or told to him, or all the great heroes and their wondrous weapons. What if all of those weapons had simply been dumped in a pile somewhere, and all were permitted to come and take what they wished. He well realised his master's offense at this square, and indeed at the eight islands of Lake Rumare. The White Gold tower must truly be tarnished.

Just then a crowd of people walked out of the castle's doors, about thirty strong they stalked out in great excitement. While the doors had been open before, now the guards sprang aside for fear of being run down by the fury of the crowd, their halberds and bright mail glimmering in the sun as they moved.

"Look." Said Corentin, "there he is now. Next to old Lord Pellas at the front."

Indeed, among the crowd several particularly finely dressed individuals leading them. As Corentin had noted, Harald saw Master Vinothren striding out, not quite as angry as the others, or at least hiding it better. He wore as usual his floppy cap with his hair tied back, and again as usual his beard and moustache were well groomed. Unusually though he also wore a cloak Harald had never seen, unusual both because of the heat which would make it quite uncomfortable, but also because of its ostentatiousness. Ordinarily while Master Vinothren would wear fine clothes in many colours, he seldom dressed in an extravagant manner, preferring a more subdued and elegant wardrobe. The cloak he was wearing now though was rather grand, with black fur at the neck and wrists, and the sleeves slashes showing a deep red velvet.

All around the elf, clustered in the centre of the group and gesticulating angrily were the Merchant Princes of Wayrest. They were uniformly tall and broad, with their hair flowing down to their shoulders. They dressed much alike to Master Vinothren, with the same tall boots, tight hose and padded doublets as Harald's master wore, though in most cases their ornaments were grander, with many wearing golden amulets with ribbons woven through their chains. The finest dressed of these men stood, as Corentin had noted, next to Master Vinothren. Where the elf was calm, Lord Pellas was clearly incensed and gestured just as violently as the rest of them as they spoke. Eventually though some of the merchants began to break off into smaller groups, with a core remaining around Pellas. Master Vinothren seemed to be consulted on something and nodded, waved his hands as if to show the futility of a situation, and shook his head, breaking off as well and moving toward Harald and Corentin.

"I take it the petition did not go well sir?" asked Corentin.

Master Vinothren pursed his lips. "Let me give you some advice my friend, and you too Harald," he said looking at the boy, "If you must serve, serve the people."

Corentin raised an eyebrow slightly but otherwise made no reply, seeing Lord Pellas coming up behind. "We are meeting tonight." He said bluntly, his voice rough but not particularly deep though his chest was deep and his shoulders broad, "Will you join us?"

Master Vinothren nodded, "Certainly, there's much to talk about… but we'll do that later. Lord Pellas, let me introduce you to Magnus' grandson, Harald. Harald, here is Lord Pellas, the Admiral of Wayrest."

"Good morning Lord Pellas." Harald said dutifully.

Lord Pellas looked down and smiled, "Aye, well met lad. My father sailed with old Magnus to fight the elves up and down the Broken Coast. A good man." And he nodded firmly. Harald felt a great warmth from the man and was happy, though rather surprised to meet someone else who'd known his family. He realised that if Lord Pellas' father had sailed with his grandfather then no doubt he also heard stories of Falinesti just as Master Vinothren had told him some time ago. He said as much and Lord Pellas smiled again.

"Aye, they scuttled the ships in the harbour and had to stuff their cloaks into the holes the arrows made in their longboats as they made their way onto the shore. My father lost an arm to elf-magic, but he always spoke of Magnus the Signifier swimming across the River Strid, the Tenth's golden bull over his head so the standard wouldn't get wet." Said Lord Pellas, "Young man you must come along tonight as well, my sons will welcome the company. I'll tell Alwin to bring his. And with that and a brief farewell to Master Vinothren he left, joining the others.

Harald looked up, the elf was frowning. "We must move quickly." He murmured, "Corentin, do you know the house of Ferrand the Magistrate?"

"Across the river, near the lampwright's street?"

"The same, go there swiftly, I must have a ruling. By this evening! Assist him if he requires it. Go there now and I'll send Cassius with some papers."

Corentin departed as swiftly as Master Vinothren had decreed and the elf turned to Harald, "You have done well Young Master Harald." He said wryly, "I'd almost forgotten that the father of Pellas had sailed with Magnus, a quirk of fortune no doubt! Now, we must be away, follow quickly!"

"What's happened?" Harald asked, jogging to match the acceleration of his master away, striding across the courtyard and back down the hill.

"Many things." Said Master Vinothren, "For your purposes you only need know that the King is being foolish. There will be a new tax. Alone, inconsequential, a minor inconvenience. But together with equally unadvisable policies it becomes the latest in a string of such inconveniences."

"Against the merchants? In favour of the nobles?" Harald asked, for as he'd walked with Corentin he'd seen a number of the more martial figures of the nobility. As he understood, the land based nobility predominantly lived on their estates, while those like Lord Pellas and his party were more closely associated with mercantile activity and the sea and thus lived in the city.

"Yes, well done, the axis becomes unbalanced."

That had indeed been exactly Harald's thought, coming to him just as they turned onto the central road that linked the merchant's plaza and the ruined palace, that road where he'd climbed onto one of the large stone lions last summer when they'd arrived in the city. The road was clear at that time of day though and they were swiftly back home, whereupon Master Vinothren spoke quickly to Cassius, preparing a satchel and several letters for him to deliver around the city. After he was done Cassius called another the of the Argonians, Mettellus, with a hiss and handed him several of the letters. They both left after, no doubt splitting up to deliver the notes more quickly, Cassius going to the magistrate Master Vinothren had mentioned, and Metellus to whatever other tasks he'd been set.

Harald made his way upstairs to the study and found Master Vinothren sitting, staring at the wall, his chin balanced on his hands. The boy went and sat on the stool as usual and waited for Master Vinothren to see him. Eventually the elf's eyes refocused and he smiled, "I'll be very busy tonight." He said, "So you'll have to look after yourself while we're there. Pellas has three sons and a daughter, the sons are older than you, except for one who is only a few months old, and the daughter is about your age I imagine. You're a good boy but remember that its best to say nothing rather than speak if you're unsure of what to say."

Harald nodded, feeling a vague sense of anxiety in meeting anyone of his own age, rather than interacting only with the inhabitants of the house as he had for the last year or so. He wondered if Pellas' sons would be as interested as the heroes in his books. He doubted it.

"The Admiral mentioned Alwin, I seem to recall he's one of the captains, a decent family, though I recall no great deeds. If he's bringing his son likely they're the same age as you as well." Master Vinothren continued and he frowned, "It occurs to me that it may be useful for you to know the origins of the family we'll be joining for the evening. Bring me my large map."

Harald quickly did so, laying it out on the table and unrolling it. It was a very large map, taller than he was, and it covered almost all of Master Vinothren's desk.

"Let's see. We'll start with Shornhelm. Its name comes from its first king, who shaved his head better to match his new subjects. Like most of the cities and towns of the north, meaning Northpoint, Camlorn and of course Daggerfall, Shornhelm was founded by Nords who'd reaved out after the Return thousands of years ago. They conquered or displaced the Bretic peoples of the High Rock and pushed back the Mer to the southern coasts of the Rock. Rivenspire to our north is a powerful kingdom, with great natural wealth, though most of it in mines and forests. It has several large towns, but few cities, and truthfully the merchants of other kingdoms steal away much of its prosperity though various means. In reality therefore the only riches it has is in a large and martial population of Nords and Reachmen, who can be easily rallied to raid out as their forefathers did in ages past, thus stealing back what was stolen from them. Because of this instability and the lack of reliable wealth, a good system of administration has never developed, meaning the nobility of Riverspire is ever in competition for the capital, and the other rich seats to tax their populations. The _Varengir_ , your father's people occasionally get involved, coming south from their ports, but otherwise are generally content to maintain what they have."

Harald followed all this on the map as Master Vinothren demonstrated the movements of the various actors as if upon a stage.

"Following the death of Empress Katariah, the Ruby Throne passed to her son Cassynder, but after he died without issue, his half-brother Uriel IV followed him. As he was in fact unrelated to Tiber Septim he faced great resistance in his rule. His son, Andorak Septim, was therefore disinherited and a cousin with a better blood claim was chosen instead, becoming Cephorus II. Andorak was given the rule of Rivenspire, and to this day his descendants rule that kingdom."

Master Vinothren paused for a moment and took a sip from his goblet.

"You will soon see why this becomes relevant to you." He explained with a smile, recognising the length of his story. "During the Stormcrown Interregnum following the martyrdom of Saint Martin, Andorak V attempted to press his claim after the end of the Septim line. He called himself Uriel, though I forget which number he was claiming to be, but others called him 'Epiultimator', as they acknowledged Martin as the last of the Septim line. Thus, just like the Pretender of Nibenay and countless others, the High Chancellor Ocato invited him to claim the White Gold. Before Andorak got there though Ocato was assassinated and his invitations proscribed. Nevertheless, many thought him likely to be good claimant and the army he'd rallied was very large. Among them was your grandfather, and he followed Andorak right to the steps of the Imperial City, and as I've told you he took part in the sack of the Palace and the White Gold Tower. Just before he was crowned though, Andorak was assassinated and his army left leaderless. Many departed for other lands, some joined other pretenders, Titus Mede among them who would later be crowned himself. Your father any many other though came back to Wayrest, where they'd been sheltered by Queen Elysana. There was once a saying in High Rock, 'find a new hill, become a king', that's essentially what they did. Andorak provided the claim, even though he was dead, and his family invaded Stormhaven from the north while the remnants of his army sailed up from the sack of Cyrodiil and took the city from the south."

Master Vinothren paused, laying a hand over the kingdom on the map. "That brings us to the present. The follows of Andorak like your grandfather and Lord Pellas' father are predominantly Nords who invaded and took the kingdom, displacing the Bretons and the Nedes. You've seen the city of course; did you notice that the western bank of the river is much paler than the eastern? The Nords claim their legitimacy from Andorak's bloodline and remember well their seafaring that brought them much wealth. Comparably the Breton nobility were supposedly placed where they are by the Divines and thus are incontestable, at least theoretically, they were push away from the coast and the roads, meaning they don't trade with anyone and are resistant to anything from outside their experience, focused on fighting each other for this or that fief. Many people try to make claims based on the Miracle of Peace but as I've explained to you few of them are effective on that alone."

Harald nodded, he understood. Master Vinothren had told him about the Warp in the West, as it was commonly known, where the Nine had ordered the chaotic Illiac Bay into lawful kingdoms, each blessed by the gods' wisdom to rule. It was a cause of great sadness among the priests that war had broken out so swiftly after the event and many lamented the murderous and greedy nature of man. However, Harald could well understand how carefully balanced the city, and the kingdom were, with two people's, the old and the new, competing for influence in the royal court. He knew that Master Vinothren favoured the newer followers of Andorak, but Master Vinothren was also conspicuously an elf, and as such Harald was rather puzzled that Master Vinothren wouldn't find greater comfort living on the other side of the river with many of the other elven families. Certainly Harald saw many more Bosmer at the docks than he'd ever seen in the streets around their home.

"You should go get ready, we must be away shortly. Pellas tends toward floridity in his speeches so it's best to arrive early." Said Master Vinothren, interrupting Harald's thoughts and the boy nodded and slipped off his seat to go dress for the evening. He had quite an assortment of clothes, many of them for the colder weather than was moving in, but he'd yet to actually wear many of them. It seemed he was to have many unusual experiences today, from seeing statues to wearing new clothes.


	11. Chapter 11

_AN: Longer than a week between updates, and less that I'd like but I want to update it really, especially on the crosspost forums. As always I encourage everyone to give their opinions._

-x-

Because of Pellas' great importance as a lord of the city and the admiral of its fleet the lord kept a house facing the Merchant's Plaza, that which Harald had once called Waterfall Square for its many ornate fountains. As they walked with the sun setting as their backs Harald realised he'd covered a great deal of the city today. From the hill and the squat castle of the King, to the great road between the ruined palace and the merchant's district, and finally here, at the end of the road, walking in a fine mist as the water from the many fountains splashed against the stonework.

He had of course been there before but Master Vinothren's office nearby was not on the square itself, but a few streets behind, close enough for a short walk between the square and the office, but also apparently rather less opulent than many of the buildings around them. This district was in essence a transitional one. Highest up the hill and nearest the King's new palace there was the high nobility of the Old Blood, now those men owning houses yet never staying them, kept only for visits, and predominantly living in their manors on estates outside the city. Next were the new nobility, men of great valour but less history who'd come down out of the north with Andorak's armies. They kept no estates, or at least small ones, outside the city, and relied greatly on finance and mercantile activity for their maintenance. Master Vinothren had explained that they filled many of the great office of state, with Lord Pellas being one example as the admiral of Wayrest's navy.

However, while Pellas and his companions were concerned with mercantilism and trade, they were not craftsmen. They kept no guilds or handiworks and scorned those who did. Master Vinothren had laughed then in his explanation a few hours before, condemning it as foolishness and pride, but Harald knew Master Vinothren also scorned such forms of work, preferring the elegance of trade over the clamour of hammers on anvils or stench of a tanner's workshop. The elf was occasionally a hypocrite. Nevertheless, both Pellas and Master Vinothren relied on the guildsmen to make the things they would then trade. As such the guildhalls and meeting places of the members were quite close to the merchant's houses, and Master Vinothren was often there speaking with some master or another about the sale of his works.

They walked through the heroes and monsters rendered in stone that made up the fountains and Harald saw a small crowd of people waiting outside one house.

"These are the servants." said Master Vinothren, "One result of their northern heritage is that the lords here tonight drink too much. The servants are here to help them home afterwards and make sure no one knifes them in the back. Before, and if they were still in the north they'd stay the night in the hall and sleep it off but that's not the case in Wayrest so accommodations have to be made. It's quite rare for those of Breton blood to get drunk, but that blood's mixed with that of Elves so that's not surprising."

Master Vinothren greeted a few others standing outside, apparently merchants rather than servants, for he spoke to them as equals and not in the same tone as he did the Argonians. The elf frowned and muttered something to himself, looking over the crowd.

Harald, who was not nearly so tall as Master Vinothren couldn't see what had disquieted him so and turned, "What's the matter? What do you see?"

"Redguards." Master Vinothren said simply, "Not unknown in the city I'm aware. But unknown here. I see a harp sigil and a ship. The ship is for the Lhotunics, but I haven't any idea what any of them would be doing here. Go around and see what that one with his back to us' sigil is."

Harald had caught sight of the men, and quickly went through the crowd, ducking between arms and around conversations of similarly liveried men.

The Redguards Master Vinothren had seen were standing a little apart from the rest of the crowd and regarded their fellows with a cold scorn, speaking quietly among themselves and seeming to have little interest in the conversations around them. As Master Vinothren had said, one wore a tunic with a blue ship, and another wore a green harp. While their fronts were to the crowd Harald had to move around them to see the other's chest, as his back was toward Master Vinothren and the others. He made to walk past them and feigned to forget something and walk back in the other direction, glancing to the side as he turned and catching the last one's symbol, or rather lack thereof, because rather alarmingly his doublet was blank with only some intricate stitching on it. He did however have an elaborate metal collar of sorts like a knight's gorget with a strange creature on it. Seeing this Harald went quickly back to his master and reported his findings.

"A scorpion? I don't know the crest. But perhaps Lainlyn." Master Vinothren replied, stroking his beard. "They are known for their use of the creature in alchemy in that region."

"Where is it?"

"Across the Bjoulsae, if you swam out of the harbour you'd reach it travelling south. It's the largest harbour in Hammerfell east of Sentinel."

Harald knew Sentinel was the largest harbour in Hammerfell, so Lainlyn sounded like the second largest. The second largest along the coastline on the southern side of the Illiac perhaps, as he'd always heard the island of Stros M'kai was a hub of all forms of maritime activity. No doubt that Master Vinothren knew it already, but Harald guessed that the Redguards were all from the northern coastline. Master Vinothren had mentioned but not properly explained the Lhotunics. All Harald knew was that they were hated by all and primarily kept to the city of Sentinel. If the servants of three lords, two of which had fiefs in Sentinel at one end of the Illiac Bay and the Lainlyn at the other then likely the third hailed from somewhere in between. He resolved to get a better explanation of it and ask Master Vinothren's thoughts, but for now he just followed the elf forward.

"Ah!" exclaimed Master Vinothren, pausing on the threshold. "Before we go in, Lord Pellas' wife is of much older blood than he. Her family goes back to the days of the Direnni Hegemony. If and when she's introduced greet her as 'Lady Elegant', not whatever she's introduced as. Do you understand?"

Harald nodded. Excited to meet someone of such an ancient family. The Dirennni had been the rulers of Wayrest thousands of years ago, before even Ysgramor came to Tamriel.

He walked forward again with Master Vinothren up to the house of Pellas. If Harald was honest with himself he'd seen better in the month's he'd lived in Wayrest, for the city was full of wonders and while the house was fine and grand, it couldn't be compared with even a few of the churches he'd seen. There were carvings on the shutters but no glass that he could see, and Harald could see that many of the beasts or other icons were rather worn, with one creature's head guarding the door above it being so unclear Harald couldn't tell it if was supposed to be a dog or a dragon. The rest of the building was large and square, and showed little in the way of architectural skill. The impression he got of it was of sturdiness and an honest piety, rather than any great beauty. Master Vinothren stopped again with his hand raised to knock.

"Pellas also has a daughter. The old blood descends through the female line, so greet her in the same fashion as you do her mother."

Master Vinothren's knock was answered by a bowing servant, a rather swarthy man with thick arms who led them into the house with a loping gait Harald hadn't seen outside sailors of long experience. Harald thought it seemed proper that Pellas employed sailors in his house, for being the Admiral of Wayrest he'd likely know many of them.

Within the house they walked down a short corridor, coming up to a turn and emerging in a courtyard. There had been many tapestries as they'd walked that Harald had tried to look at but Master Vinothren had caught his shoulder and guided him on. A low rumble had built as they came to the courtyard, and now there Harald saw the cause. All around them stood a loose crowd of people. About half were merchants of Wayrest, and Harald even saw a few from the deputation this morning, but the rest were people of all sorts the most notable of which were several men who were clearly mages by their magical staffs and bright robes. The mages stood in one group near a large vase and talked quietly among themselves, but disappointingly did nothing immediately magical or otherwise unusual.

Master Vinothren thanked the servant and dismissed him, the later touching his forehead in salute. Master Vinothren didn't move into the crowd though as Harald expected him to, but stayed at the edge, peering over the heads of many there due to his height. The elf murmured something to himself and Harald looked up at him.

"We must find Pellas. I think I see him over there." Said Master Vinothren. "We will go through, follow me closely."

With that they set off into the crowd. It was not so dense that Master Vinothren had to push past people, but he did have to interject into conversations, always greeting the conversants by name and enquiring after their health. They greeted him warmly in return, asking the same and also asking various questions on a number of subjects that Harald was as yet unaware of. Some it seemed clear were mercantile contacts, and Harald thought he recognised one man as the representative of a shipwright's, so no doubt Master Vinothren knew them from his business. Others though seemed social contacts. From his strained tone, Harald knew his master was becoming most vexed with the interruptions.

Eventually they found Pellas in conference with several other men. The admiral was once again dressed most finely, with a rich blue doublet open at the front and with silver thread running in intricate patterns. His sleeves were slashed to reveal a fine white cloth underneath, pleated as to accommodate the billowing sleeves.

Next to Pellas there was a woman. While she was not beautiful, she must have once been and her hair was gold turning silver. Harald knew this must be Lady Elegant and like her husband she wore blue, with her dress being no less elaborate when compared with her husband's clothing. However, while Lord Pellas wore only his blue and white clothing, his Lady wore a fine red mantle.

The last person who stood out was a young man by Breton reckoning, perhaps ten years older than Harald. He had the broad shoulders of Lord Pellas, but golden hair where his father's was black. Likely he was the son of Pellas and Elegant, one of the boys the admiral had mentioned earlier than morning. The boy hadn't the thick beard of his father, but he had the same blue eyes and keen look.

The Lady saw their approach first and touched Pellas' elbow, who turned and gave a broad smile. "Well met Master Elf." He exclaimed, and he clasped Master Vinothren's wrist, who smiled and greeted him in turn. They exchanged some words and Master Vinothren turned to Lady Elegant, greeting her also. "Now lad, I said you should meet my sons." He said, clapping a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Here's my son Cynric, I've two others somewhere here but the Nine alone know where." The lord said looking about him and laughing.

Harald told Cynric that he was pleased to meet him. And Pellas continued. "And my wife Elyna"

As he had that morning he bowed politely to Pellas and his wife, greeting them as Master Vinothren had instructed. Evidently the elf had been correct in his instruction because while Pellas simply smiled again, Lady Elegant beamed.

"Such a courteous boy!" she exclaimed, "You've taught him well, he's picking up your accent." She said to Master Vinothren. She smiled again at Harald and he felt a warmth in his chest.

Before Harald had chance to reply Pellas spoke: "I pray that there will be time tonight to speak to you about your father lad," he said, "Has your master told you much of him?"

"Some, but I've seen his armour." Harald replied.

"That is good. A man should always know where he comes from." Pellas resolved.

Any sense of melancholy Harald felt at the thought of his departed father was swiftly erased by the continuing conversation though. As ever he dearly wished to hear more about his family, but now there was also a quick discussion between Master Vinothren and Lord Pellas regarding a number of seemingly related issues. Pellas' son was sent away on an errand by his father without the young man saying anything, leaving Lady Elegant and Harald alone to the side. While the lady seemed content to listen into the conversation, Harald ventured to offer a compliment and relayed his interest regarding the tapestries that he'd seen when they came in.

The lady smiled again, "Master Vinothren has taught you the Dunmer courtesies I see. I thank you though, I've been working on them for a long time."

" _You_ have?" Harald asked surprised. Every wall he'd seen so far was draped in them and he'd assumed the works had been commissioned and made by some craftsman. The boy only realised after he'd spoken that he'd forgotten to use the lady's title.

She laughed and her voice was rich and warm. "A story goes that long ago one of my line called Elysana took a vow of silence. All her family had been killed in wars and the duty of remembering them fell to her. Because she'd sworn silence she couldn't tell their history to anyone, and so she wove it. Each day she wove a decade of history till blood from her worn hands stained the cloth, only to be washed away by her tears. Lady Dibella saw her sorrow and sent her pleasant dreams and a calming sleep. When Elysana woke the next day all the work was finished, and her hands had been turned to living silver."

Harald listened in amazement and glanced at Lady Elyna's own hands, which he was relieved to see were neither bloody nor silver.

"Because so much has been lost since the Demonmarch I remembered Elysanna and made it my own duty to do the same. I'm not as fast as Elysana but by daughter helps me. So far we've made 23 panels."

"Yes Master Vinothren said you had a daughter." Harald said, again realising he'd forgotten Lady Elyna's title after he's spoken and thinking himself very foolish for doing it twice.

"Did he?" replied Lady Elegant, "Perhaps you'd like to meet her?" the lady turned to her husband and touched his arm, saying something quietly and then gilded off with Harald following behind through the crowd. All bowed as the lady walked, parting for her as the clouds before the sun.

Harald wondered at the lady, for truly she was very elegant, yet also clearly wore great history about her just as she did her mantle. She family were ancient, and Harald guessed that 'Elegant' was a description for them rather than a name. It wouldn't be unusual for elves to describe a family as 'the Elegant Family', just as he'd read of the heroes of Alinor as all belonging to the 'Golden House'. Master Vinothren had explained it and so clearly knew more. However, for now he merely followed the lady closer into the crowd toward the centre of the courtyard. Above them the last light of day was fading and he saw the moon rising in the east. Rather than the sea he smelled fire and burning from the braziers spread through the crowd, for it was a chilly night as the city prepared for winter.

At the very centre of the courtyard stood a little fountain, set in a larger pool of still water. Rose petals had been scattered around the pool and gave of a sweet scent, driving away that of woodsmoke that filled the rest of the square.

Beside the pool sat a girl, arrayed in green and wearing a golden belt. He hair too was golden and as she looked up Harald saw that her eyes were as green as her robe, alight, alive and smiling. Like her mother she wore a mantle of scarlet, sitting beside the water as the last maiden of summer. Hers was the warmth of flowers and the freedom of the sea.

"Elaine," said Lady Elyna, "Here is Harald, your grandfather's sailed together and he has an interest in the tapestries, you must go show him some of them while I attend to your father." And with that the lady left them.

"Hello Lady Elegant, my name's Harald." He said to introduce himself.

"You know the story!" the girl exclaimed and her smile widened in friendship. "I'm Elaine." She said and while her mother's voice had been rich, hers was light and fair.

They bowed to each other and Harald noticed her hand was wet as she held her dress. She caught his glance and blushed. "I thought I saw a fish so I was trying to catch it."

Harald's confusion was evident, "Why would there be a fish there? How would it even get in?" All thoughts in his head were quite scattered by Elaine's explanation.

" _Pipes_." She said simply and with a hint of pride, "It could have swum along there. How else do you think the pool is filled? It's not like we use buckets to bring the water here."

That seemed sensible and frankly Harald was eager to change the subject. "Lady Elyna said you helped her with the tapestries." He ventured.

Elaine nodded eagerly, "Come on, mother said to show you some so let's go. I won't be able to find the fish now anyway."

Though Master Vinothren had always encouraged honesty Harald restrained himself from pointing out that there probably hadn't been a fish there anyway and followed Elaine off, her red cape bouncing as she walked.


	12. Chapter 12

And another chapter…

-x-

"Which tapestries do you want to see?" Elaine asked.

Harald didn't know, "Which ones have you made?"

Elaine launched into a list, "The taking of Dragonstar, the Fourth Orc War, the Black Drake, I can never remember that one's name-"

"Do you mean the Reachman?" Harald asked, for he'd read a story where King Emeric had fought an army led by one called thus.

"Yes, do you know the story?"

"Yes but I can't remember his name either." Harald said. The Black Drake had been the father of the Longhouse Emperors, a dynasty of Reachmen eventually displaced by Varus the Brave, who'd begged Akatosh to crown him Emperor.

Elaine hummed, "Oh well." She said with a shrug that sent his cape dancing again, "Mother said you know about our name, do you want to see that? We finished that panel a few months ago."

"I know about Elysana." Harald said, "Lady Elyna told it to me just now."

"No not that one, we had to get a special thread from Skyrim for that. I meant the Harper."

The girl led him onward into the house. The walls were richly decorated, with many tapestries of hunting and sailing scenes. These ones were rather crude though, and in several places Harald saw that once bright colours had faded and other had frankly bizarre additions. In one case there appeared to be a man wielding a sword with a handle at each end. Unless that was some strange foreign weapon Harald was inclined to think it a mistake of the weaver, which seemed unlikely with the obvious care with which Lady Elyna had spoken of her own weaving.

They came to a stairway, spiralling up, but the walls up there were bare stone. Elaine led Harald along further and they came to a room. Inside the walls were still bare, but now Harald saw several racks of smaller tapestries, these ones only a foot across each. There must have been dozens of them.

"Look, here's Silverhands. And me and Mother."

Harald looked, and indeed there were two smaller figures weaving next to a figure with silver hands. All three of them wore green dresses and red cloaks. "Lady Elyna said there wasn't anyone left to remember the stories." Harald said softly, leaning in to look closer.

"And?" Elain sneered a little unkindly, "Mother said we should be in it. We're her daughters." She ruffled through the panels. Harald saw a dozen beautifully rendered scenes, with battles and heroes slaying monsters, as well as many finely dressed people and an army in golden panoply.

"Here it is." Said Elaine eventually, holding some of the panels up to reveal one underneath. "Mother made it before I was born, but the Harper was the first of our line anyway."

The panel showed a noble woman, again attired in green and with a red cloak. She sat on a rock beside a stream and had many animals gathered about her. Several men dressed in armour knelt before her.

"The knights of the High Rock were riding one day when they heard music through the woods." Elaine explained, "They came upon a woman, and her song was so beautiful that the whole wood stopped to hear it and all the animals came to listen. The knights were so amazed they brought the Harper back to their masters the Direnni and the king gave the woman his cloak so everyone would know she was the noblest lady in the land."

"And you keep this tradition?" asked Harald, looking across at Elaine, her own cloak as red as her mothers.

"Of course, how else would we remember her?"

Harald looked again. "The weaving is very beautiful." He said simply. Elaine started babbling, thanking him for the compliment but Harald wasn't really listening, losing himself in thoughts of history. He'd recognised a few of the scenes from the tapestries from Master Vinothren's stories and teaching, but these ones were so much more alive. Instead of blocks for armies and stones for castles here was the history of High Rock in shining thread and colour. Instead of battles these were the scenes of art and beauty.

Harald looked over at the girl, her eyes bright even in the darkened room "Why do they call you Elegant then?"

"Oh well when the Direnni king saw the Harper he started shouting about how elegant she was." Elaine shrugged, "Mother tells it better but that's how it went."

Without thinking, Harald remembered something. _"What an elegant craft, to be rigged fore and aft."_

Elaine looked at him. "What's that?"

Harald smiled, "A song I heard from sailors on the waterfront. Master Vinothren told me it was about a new sort of ship that was made, a very fast a powerful one. They came up with a new way of building it to have two large masts instead of only one, at first the shipwright says its elegant, then the captains he hunts fear him and call it a fearsome craft."

Elain brightened, "Do you like music?"

Harald knew he liked to listen to the singing by the dockworkers. He'd even learnt the calls of the Argonians who would whistle to each other to talk, he'd never considered it music but he supposed it was. He nodded and Elaine grinned.

"I've been learning as well, come on, I'll show you." And she stood and went to the door, but before she could open it they heard footsteps and voices on the other side.

The children looked at each other, then slowly pressed their ears against the door.

"… _I spoke to him yesterday, did you_ …" said a voice, but it was swiftly covered by an answer Harald couldn't hear. He did hear the sound of hobnails on the wooden floor though. That was odd. Almost all the city was paved so nailed boots were uncomfortable to walk in. It must have been one of the foreigners who'd come to the meeting. He said as much to Elaine.

"It must be that Nord." She replied turning her nose up, "Looked like a bear."

Harald knew she probably meant one of the Varengir, the men out of Northpoint. Lennart, one of Master Vinothren's captains was one of them. Whoever was wearing the boots had probably been traveling down from that city. Harald took hold of the door, "Let's follow them." He suggested, peeking around the corner to see several people turning into a doorway down the corridor.

Harald led the way, stepping lightly after them, pulling Elaine along behind him.

"They're going to the balcony!" Elaine whispered as they neared the door, "Come on, we can go to the music room, we'll be able to see them from there." And now she was leading him, heading back down the corridor to the stairs and they went up again, quickly reaching the top and going down another corridor, this one again with blank walls. Elaine pushed at a door but it barely budged. "It's stuck again." She said, straining at it, "Help me!"

Harald set his shoulder against it, pushing even though there was a nail standing proud of the door that pressed into his shoulder. With a grunt he pushed again and this time the door opened.

They found themselves in a dark room, this one though had glass windows and Elain went swiftly around opening the shutters. Moonlight streamed in and Harald saw many musical instruments of all sorts, with flutes, lyres and harps of a variety of shapes as well as a small bookshelf with a number of scrolls on it. Elaine was awkwardly dragging a case over to one of the windows, and Harald guessed it was to stand on. He went to the girl's side and together they manoeuvred it into place. They climbed on top and Harald saw that as Elaine had said, the men they'd seen going down the corridor were sitting about in a small garden. There were several fences with what looked like flowers or vines growing through them and in the dark their leaves looked silver.

"What're they talking about?" he murmured over to Elaine.

She shushed him, concentrating on the men below.

Harald followed her gaze. Many of those there were leaning on the posts of the garden, and a few were sitting on benches. He saw Lord Pellas there, as well as a large man who did indeed look like a bear. That must be the Nord. Master Vinothren was also there, stooped in conference with one older man who either was listening intently or asleep.

Words reached them. Harald saw a tall man, standing in the centre of the terrace, and though the speaker was standing as to face away from their vantage point, his gestures conveyed as much of his speech as the words themselves: "Is it not so my brothers? Let not the sharp-toothed and viperous calumny of the Bretons and their untrue representations to any degree excite the mind of the King against us and the defenders of our rights, which Sainted Steldal may forbid!"

A noise of general agreement came from the crowd, with many striking fist against palm.

"For our defence we have poured into the royal ear with mighty outcry by means of letters, petitions and a true account of our origin and our form of common governance, if governance it can be called, for do we not marshal ourselves like the clan-hosts of our long fathers? We have spoken of the cruel wrongs that have been wrought on us and our forefathers by some kings of this city, but more so their evil ministers! Yet we cannot now be sure that we may receive the inheritance we have always enjoyed! For so long we have trusted in the power of kings and stoutly defended against tyrants and the heresy of the crowd, but where now is the commonwealth we were promised?"

Pellas had leant toward his neighbour through the tall man's speech and he now stood to answer the words. "Ermengal you speak as ever like the dragon, with fire burning your tongue!"

The men around them laughed, and the tall men, Ermengal, who'd turned to reply to Pellas smiled a little and bowed sardonically, retreating to the crowd.

"Brothers!" Pellas called, "Though I would have not said as much as my friend, I cannot say otherwise. Can we see these latest outrages as anything other than prejudice and deprivation? Is this merely poor fortune? Will any of you say that our people have displeased the gods in some fashion? For my part I have done all I can to honour the Nine, and I do not doubt the same for any man here! To what door shall we turn to revenge our misfortunes? How shall our liberty be defended? We took this land with blood and iron! Let us defend it with the same strength! The Bretons claim their lords were all set up by the Nine. How can that be so when hundreds of years have passed since the Miracle? They'd certainly fell easily enough against the Demonmarch! Such is their arrogance to lord it over us and so great is our due and natural desire to throw off the unbearable yoke of their scorn that all sincere good will between them and us in this life has been burned away. When we take to the sea but find no harbour upon our return, where then can we turn? Can we be held disloyal if we do nothing unlawful while our enemies close in about us, ever striking us with their unjust and wicked spurs? Even the justest of Judges would smile and condign vengeance upon them for their tyrannous oppression and other most wicked deeds; and this with a firm faith we believe will soon come to pass!"

The men struck their palms against their thighs and pounded the wooden posts of the garden. Silver leaves shimmered as a wave of indignation passed through them.

Pellas continued full solemnly: "I might say that I would have things as they were in all the years of my life, and the days of my longfather's before me. To be a lord of peace and war, to pass on my sword to a worthy son, and to see my people thrive. Yet can we not dream? I would have all these things, but so too I would grasp greatness! Let things be as they were in the finest days of the city! Let the knights of Wayrest ride out once again over sea and land! Let our ships fill the Illiac, and return home with holds a 'bursting!" He paused, looking over to Master Vinothren, "Come now Master Elf, I have no leaning on historical matters, tell us how we may achieve all these things! The will is on us, but even the best navigator must have stars to steer by."

Master Vinothren looked rather uncomfortable to Harald. The elf was sitting with his head back, and had adopted that pose he would whenever he was deep in contemplation. He stayed like that for a few seconds after Pellas had stopped speaking, then slowly came forward. "Lord Admiral," he said slowly, "What do you mean by calling me thus?"

"Merely that you an elf." Pellas said, clearly confused, he glanced to either side, finding indeed that what he'd said had not aroused any note of confusion with anyone else.

"But why is that important?"

Pellas frowned, "It is a little thing, please, I pray you take no offence, but continue and say whatever you may say."

Harald knew Master Vinothren well enough that he knew the elf was only playing at offence. Indeed, his master had always maintained a dignified composure, and there were only a few times Harald had ever seen him visibly upset, sometimes when returning home after a day of business.

The elf continued, drawing a hand to the side of his head and brushing his hair back to touch one pointed ear. "Truly, I am an Dunmer. I may tell you then that the secret to history is merely to take a longer view. Because of my race, I am in constant contemplation of history."

Master Vinothren stood, stepping forward a little, "By occupation rather than by nature I conduct my mercantile endeavours, I buy and sell, I lend or borrow. By nature, I am a scholar. As a scholar and Mer both, I may examine further and more history than most. You have spoken of greatness Pellas, what then is greatness? You speak of armies and fleets, yet who would not have this so? Lord Ermengal, would you not have these things? Petrus? Radimund? Have you the will that these things be so?"

The men Master Vinothren addressed all made noises of assent.

"I tell you this is mere subsistence." Continued Master Vinothren, "If you seek greatness you cannot succumb to passivity. Consider those great princes that ruled this city in past years. They were all great, yet for different reasons. Ruffe diverted rivers and broke down mountains to make his roads, in Emeric's day the Daggerfall Covenant spanned almost half of Tamriel, and the whole of the Illiac was merely the lion's lake. Even Arnau the Monk was great, in his own way, for at his court the rulers of Tamriel gathered to hear his wisdom and fought for the right to employ his students. Learn well their histories and know therefore what the true nature of greatness may be. You seek influence, wealth, power. Is there any person that doesn't? Instead consider what specifically you desire."

Harald had heard these words before, as often when Master Vinothren had played at war with him the elf had always said the key to battle was strategy. An enemy was to be defeated, that was the definition of the term, but the method of that defeat comprised the objectives of combat.

"Do I agree that we as merchants have been unjustly treated? That the King's actions have led to little good and a general decrease in law, prosperity, and the common welfare of the city and the kingdom overall? Certainly. Do I agree that these policies of aggrandisement toward the provincial nobility is fatal to the kingdom's defence? I do. Is Wayrest declining now, are her armies weaker now than those of Daggerfall, and her navies smaller than those of Sentinel? They are slowly becoming so, despite the valiant efforts of our host. Do I know some direct strategy that may reverse these misfortunes? I do not, but I perhaps know where to start."


	13. Chapter 13

The weeks following the meeting were a rush of appointments and journeys around the city. Harald followed Master Vinothren to each one, usually carrying a bag or standing in the corner. Usually Corentin would do this and assist Master Vinothren with whatever he required during his business, but in this case the Breton was busy with other tasks, so it fell to Harald to fill in. While others might have resented the tasks, particularly as Harald's birthday was barely acknowledged due to the fullness of the schedule, truthfully Harald was proud that Master Vinothren trusted him enough to give him this work. He could read well enough in the elvish and Bretic scripts that he could hand whichever document was required over, and he'd yet to make a mistake in doing so, meaning Master Vinothren could continue his discussions with guild leaders, magistrates and other men of the city without interruption.

In the space between meetings Master Vinothren continued to instruct him, this time explaining anything to do with their meetings and Harald learnt a great deal simply from being around the elf as he conducted his business. The boy had yet to fully understand all the specifics behind the events that had led to the meeting in the house of Pellas, but it seemed that Master Vinothren's position as an adviser had morphed into one of a more direct sort. The advantage of this though was that several times a week Master Vinothren would go to speak with Lord Pellas in private, while Harald would be left to play with Elaine, which largely consisted of learning music from her mother, Elyna, the Lady Elegant. Elaine already played the harp, though could not match her mother for skill at it, and Harald swiftly learnt the same instrument. It was not the tall harp, larger than either of the children, but what Elaine called a 'woodharp' a smaller instrument, the sort any troubadour or singer would use on their travels instead of its more cumbersome sibling.

In that house he also learnt his first words of poetry, for Lady Elyna was learned in languages and many forms of art, not only in music but with words also. She knew many of the most famous tales by heart, from the songs sung during Konunleikar, a festival of Windhelm far to the north, to the marches of the Alessian legions who had ruled all the world at one point. There was even an amusing little song about pirates that Harald had liked so much he'd taken to whistling it as he walked. Master Vinothren had disapproved of that one, particularly the part about cutting down the magistrates during raids. However, the elf had acknowledged that Harald's father would have likely thought it amusing, and that was all the justification the boy needed.

He had realised at some point that the instruction he received from each of these teachers was very different. He didn't quite know when it had occurred to him, perhaps when Elaine had shown him the tapestries for the first time, but now the thought was clear. Where Master Vinothren would teach him history, Lady Elyna taught stories. It seemed a strange thought, that there would be any difference between them, for history was simply a never-ending story after all, but Harald had found that when Master Vinothren told him of some battle it was much clearer, some lord or king would go forth with a host of however many thousands, and would take such a road to siege a caste, and would win or lose based on his preparations. When Lady Elyna told the same story the tale would be full of daring, and the warrior would fight for love or honour. Men would follow a king for his valour, not because he paid them, and the heroes inevitably (and indeed quite frequently) seemed to encounter a host of monsters, false knights or sorcerers who would stand in their path. The numbers of the armies or the logistics of the campaign to Lady Elyna were irrelevant, and the whole battle was condensed into a single clash between warriors.

Harald had brought this up when he'd gone home one day and Master Vinothren had time to speak with him. The answer he'd received hadn't been satisfying, but had at least explained things: "I've often spoken of objectives have I not?" Master Vinothren had asked with an eyebrow raised, "Consider them here. I intend to teach you the history of the world, as much as I can at any rate. I teach you wars, dynasties, and historical events of significance. I hope that you receive some of this information and it may be of use to you, such as knowing the basics of how to conduct a military action, or knowing how not to ford a river. But Lady Elyna is not a soldier, nor as far as I know are any of her line. She cares little for strategy and much for grace. To her, the champion of a tournament is not the knight who has trained the hardest, who has the finest horse or the best made armour, it is the knight who has the love of his lady. That is the will of the gods made manifest, and that alone ensures victory. Similarly, a battle is not decided by preparation, numbers, the absence of disease, or the availability of water, but by other, more ephemeral things."

"Then who's right?" Harald had asked.

"You already know." Said the elf with a smile, "Neither of us. Consider Byric. He was a fine warrior, perhaps a reasonable lord, and a clever tactician. However, that doesn't excuse his belligerent behaviour in attacking the Reachmen. Nor though does it make him either hero or villain. You may sing whatever songs you like, and do not be reluctant to do them, there's great beauty in poetry. Remember though that history is simply a description of events, it is not a statement of character, that can only be made by you. Magnus knew this well."

Of course, Harald's father and grandfather were ever on his mind, and he'd asked in vain for a fuller accounting of their lives. But Master Vinothren denied him, saying he was too young to understand it all. Harald fumed at that, and sulked for some time, before resolving to be better. He would learn all Master Vinothren had to teach him, and if he did the elf would certainly have no reason to refuse him anymore. In the meantime, though, he'd asked the others, including Corentin and the Argonians about his father, for he thought they were probably old enough to have known him, given it had been less than a decade since the man had died. Corentin was of little help, saying only that Robert, as he'd known him, had been a fine man but that he'd never spoken to him at length, which made Harald suspect the Breton was just saying that to please Harald, rather than due to any familiarity with his father. The Argonians though seemed to confused his father with his grandfather, and Cassius had spoken at some length of Magnus going about the islands of Sheogorad by boat with Master Vinothren and fighting it seemed anyone at any time, and then allying with them later, the decisions being rather arbitrary. Harald had heard that Argonians had strange familial customs so he thought nothing of the error, perhaps Cassius thought his father and grandfather were the same. Didn't Argonians grow out of trees in Black Marsh? It was something like that.

"Remember that you are living history even now." Master Vinothren had said at the end of their talk. "In the morning I want you to go to the docks. Take a few coins for some food, and go about asking questions. Ask the sailors and the captains where they've come from, get their opinions on the policies of the kings of their lands, or the events in their native cities. If two merchants disagree about a particular thing, try to understand why. I'm not asking you to always be right in that understanding, but on any issue you must always have an opinion. A man who thinks nothing of a thing and forms no belief on it is ignorant."

And so Harald went out the following morning. The walk down to the docks was pleasant, as it always was, and he found peace in the sun and the sea breeze. The gulls were calling overhead and the dock workers were singing. There were many of the usual songs, like 'Sweet Lady of Wayrest', which was of course the most popular one, but also 'Arathel's Lament' and 'Seeding Day' which were songs particular to the Illiac rather than common everywhere as 'Sweet Lady' was. As he walked he collected small stones, which was a habit of his to replenish his little rock soldiers. He felt something missing as he looked at a message post at the end of a quay and he realised he hadn't been slinging for more than a year. Since he first left Alcaire with Master Vinothren even. Looking down at the stones in his hands and pilling out some of the ones in his pockets Harald saw that many were very round and really would be excellent for use in a sling, if he'd had one. He frowned. Where had his old sling gone? Had he even brought it with him when he came to the city? He must have, although that being said the boy had very little memory of anything before his meeting with Master Vinothren. He vaguely recalled the valley of his early childhood, but even the names of those who'd cared for him had been erased by the passage of time.

He resolved to keep an eye out for anything he could use to make a sling. Likely there was some string or leather things about that he could adapt and braid together, and a cloth pad was easy to find for the sling's cup, but that could wait, for now Harald heard elvish voices and he wandered toward them in great interest. It was quite rare for there to be any elves at all in the city. Master Vinothren had explained it as a result of past policies, meaning that any Altmer dissidents fleeing their homes would usually go to Sentinel, and find no reason to progress all the way along the Illiac toward Wayrest. The city didn't have the culture or arts to support such a population, who for the most part were old and strong in magic. Sentinel had always been a great city, and had suffered none of the upsets that Wayrest had, meaning they still maintained the prestige of their past. However, in the newer days Sentinel was no longer safe for the Altmer, with the most prominent example being an attack some years ago, so Master Vinothren had explained, which men called 'The Night of Green Fire'. Thalmor agents had attacked the city from within targeting the elvish quarter and attempting to silence some of the more vocal critics of the new government of Alinor. As a result, the elves within the city had fled further afield, many of them going to the Imperial City, which they thought was sufficiently far away from the Summerset Isles that they would be safe. Meanwhile, the King of Sentinel had been outraged at the attack, but had essentially bowed to the pressure on him, outlawing congregations of elves from the city.

However, when Harald came toward the voices he saw that the sailors were not Altmer as he'd expected, but Dunmer like Master Vinothren. They had the same unhealthily pale skin, though theirs seemed somewhat darker than Master Vinothren's. They wore their hair in the same fashion as Harald had seen many sailors do, but their clothes, while rough, were well made and decorated with patterns and small beads. There was clearly a hierarchy between them, with their leader being a rather portly Dunmer with thin red hair and a ridiculous pair of boots. He ordered the others about, particular one who was probably a bosun or sergeant in charge of the men. The men, or elves in this case, were shoeless and followed after their chief, and from their talk Harald learned they were lost and heading back to their ship. He followed them, planning to do as Master Vinothren had instructed him and find out where they were coming from.

"I told you it was the other way." Said one sailor.

"I didn't say it wasn't!" replied another replied angrily.

"I told the captain too!" said the first.

They continued to complain about their captain and his apparently false boasts about speaking Bretic and how it had gotten them all lost. They also complained about the heat, and in general various aspects of a country that foreigners always complain of. Harald had heard it quite often before. Master Vinothren held that all places and peoples were essentially the same. If the food wasn't edible in Elsweyr then surely the people there wouldn't eat it, even if they were beasts, or so he said.

Eventually they found the way back to their ship, though they took several wrong turns that amused Harald greatly as he walked after them. The sailors and bosun collected several others, all of them Dunmer, and headed off toward the waterfront inns to drink away their wages or do whatever it is sailors did when on shore. The captain walked about the deck inspecting various things and speaking with a few others who were left.

Harald stood on the dock, looking at the Dunmer ship. Ships were broadly divided into two categories, the round and the long. Roundships were ungainly, deep and used for transport and cargo, and driven by the sail, whereas longships usually had oars and were used for military purposes, being very fast. Both could be seen in the docks of Wayrest on any particular day, but the Dunmer ship was a bizarre mix of the two. It was quite large, having fore and aft castles, but also having portholes for oars beneath the deck. There weren't any oars there, but it was still strange to see them given there hadn't been that many sails. They would need at least a hundred rowers for a ship of this size, and Harald thought the real number couldn't have been more than two dozen.

In his walking the Captain turned and saw Harald standing on the dock watching him.

"Hal-oo!" the Captain said, and Harald smirked somewhat, the Captain's accent was indeed very poor.

"What House?" Harald called back in the Dunmeri tongue. It was the common greeting in Old Vvardenfell. Even before the Red Year and the hundred days of night caused by the ash of the eruption, the Red Mountain had often sent up ash storms. When the Dunmer had to go out to their duties they would wear tick masks and eye pieces made from the transparent carapaces of insects. As such whenever a traveller would meet another on the road they would inevitably be unable to identify one and other, both being covered in ash, and so would give a call. Nor was there any place for deception, as none of the Great Houses would ever pretend to be a member of any other House, for it was a great disgrace to do so.

The Captain paled though, and on a Dunmer face that was a particularly unpleasant sight, as their blood went from their cheeks and only served to make their faces corpse-like. "Ules of Dren." he croaked.

Harald thought for a moment, he remembered the name. There had been… what was it? A Councillor? Yes perhaps, and the boy knew House Dren, while they had never ascended to the status of a Great House like the others in Morrowind, Dren had always been an influential name. The Captain was claiming to be a member of House Ules, presumably in service of House Dren, who in turn had been one of the strongest banners of House Hlallu.

"Ules, of Ascadia?" he replied. He remembered now, House Dren had kept slaves in the southern regions of Vvardenfell, the smoking island in the middle of Morrowind. Master Vinothren had always spoken of Hlallu as the house he would have joined had the Red Year not occurred. Where a warrior might find a place in the Great House Redoran, or devouts in Great House Indoril, Hlallu had always served as the patron of business.

It occurred to Harald that this was a rather strange Dunmer then, to admit his personal House of Ules, but also his patronage House of Dren. Both were Hlallu supporters but the Hlallu had been mostly destroyed, lashed to the sinking ship of Imperial administration in Morrowind after the rise of the Nerevarine and faced with slave rebellions in their plantations during the Ascension War.

The Captain nodded again, and had somewhat composed himself. "When I heard Aldmeris here I thought the Tong had come to murder me." He said with a sigh of relief. "But unless they've started recruiting even younger than usual that can't be so. Where do you come from then? How does a Mannish child come to know our tongue, and well enough to ask the right questions?"

That was interesting as well, thought Harald. The 'Tong' the Captain referred to was probably the so called 'Foresters Guild', the Morag Tong. Deviants and demon worshippers, they regulated the traditions of House warfare in the old days of Morrowind before the fall. Was this Captain fleeing them then? Perhaps the Tong pursued all Houses previous aligned with the Hlallu? Or maybe the Captain Ules was just superstitious.

"I am the ward of Llirelyn Vinothren." Harald said, "A merchant in the city."

"I didn't know there were any Dunmer of note east of west of Solitude!" exclaimed Ules. "How strange!"

The Captain was pleased merely to converse in his own language and was happy to speak to Harald at length about his voyage from Blacklight, now the largest port in Morrowind and the events there. Ules evidently had formed a good opinion of the boy, in fact too good an opinion, and he spoke about events and people of whom Harald had no previous knowledge, and so was at rather a loss to actually understand what Ules was talking about.

"I will call on your master tomorrow I think; it will be good to see another Dunmer of worth in this foreign land." Ules mused pompously, "By what sign does he stand?"

"The rayed sun."

Ules nodded and made to turn away, with Harald soon leaving as it was getting dark. He was pleased, he'd done exactly as Master Vinothren had told him, and had even found another Dunmer for the elf to talk to.

Happy as he was, the walk home was a pleasant one. Harald even managed to find some string and leather, braiding the strands into a single rope as he went. He could have just used them as they were, but he knew twisted rope would stretch under strain, where a braid wouldn't. He experimentally cast a few of the stones he'd picked up that morning as he went, slinging them at wooden mooring posts or bits of driftwood along the beach. His old skill hadn't left him, and just as he was thinking to go home Harald saw a large seagull perched on a rock. He only had a few stones left, and only one of them was the right shape to sling. Without thinking he dropped the stone into the cup of the sling and felt the weight of it.

The sling whistled as he span it around his head, and the bullet shot forward, striking the gull straight on the breast and killing it instantly. Harald grinned and walked up. The bird was quite dead and while he looked at it he absently wrapped the sling around his wrist for safekeeping. After a while he went back up the beach, picking up more stones as he went, not noticing three boys pass him going toward the sea.

Harald walked along for a while, but as he turned he saw the three again, and realised they'd been following him. Two were large, or rather tall, because they were quite thin, while the other was clearly younger, perhaps only five or so. The youngest boy carried a dead bird, with Harald realising it was the one he'd shot.

He frowned. "What do you want?"

"Give it here!" said the middle boy, pointing angrily at Harald.

The latter stared in confusion. "What? And no! I won't." For whatever they wanted Harald had no intention of giving it them.

"The rope!" continued the other boy. "Give us it or else."

Harald felt a rage rise inside him. With a flick of his wrist he unwound the sling, "Or I could send another stone at your head!" he snapped back, though he made no move to reach for the stone. But the anger within him didn't stop even when the boys recoiled. They were trying to take something that was his, and Harald had no intention of letting them.

Again without thinking, Harald found that he was in a crouch, low and stable enough to fight from, with his sling held back in one hand. He frowned, he hadn't even thought to fight, the words had just come to him. He looked at the boys again. They were thin, much thinner than he, and he realised why they wanted the sling.

"You don't know how to use this. And you don't know how to make it." He said, straightening up. "You're hungry, and I've seen hundreds of gulls all around the city." He continued, "As well as a load of kitchens and pie shops you could sell the meat to once you've had your fill.

The middle boy, the largest, glowered at him but said nothing.

Master Vinothren had often spoken of the importance of alliances. And hadn't he told Harald to go out and see what was happening in the city?

"I'll teach you." he said.


	14. Chapter 14

AN: Not dead only sleeping! Remember to review/discuss!

-x-

"Come on! Defend!"

The blow came like a hammer and Harald stumbled back.

"Keep your shield up!"

He did and it was knocked back again.

The grip was slippery in his hand and he made to adjust the hold, edging back, panting.

The helm restricted his vision and sweat ran down his head getting in his eyes. But he came forward, shield up, that was important.

"Good footwork, now come at me." Said his teacher Ivar, equally armed and armoured in a padded jacket.

Harald did, his wooden sword help beside his shield. Though it was heavy he held out the shield which Ivar struck.

"Don't just hold it there, it's meant to protect you, not be a target for me to hit." Ivar chided him, and he swung his staff again, its iron head striking so hard it felt like the shield was going to crack.

His shoulder and arm burning Harald pushed forward, he took two more blows to the shield and struck out with his sword, then bringing it back for a cut Ivar's stick crashed into it and sent the weapon flying.

Panicking the boy scrambled back, Ivar's staff thudding off his shield as he went. He stooped for the sword but something struck him in the back and he fell into the dirt.

Harald lay there for a few moments. Completely spent. Happily, Ivar had stopped as well, being at least mildly out of breath from fighting an opponent half his size.

"Recover." Came the command and Harald wearily levered himself up on his sword.

"If that had an edge you'd have blunted it." Ivar sneered, "You must recover quickly or the foeman will spit you like a pig."

Harald nodded, "I'm ready."

"What can a soldier do who charges when out of breath?" Ivar responded. "Go drink."

Harald nodded, dropping his equipment and stumbling over to the water trough. He pulled off his helm, dropping it beside him and running a hand through sweat drenched hair. He made a cup with his hands and drank greedily. After a few cups though he stopped himself, for Ivar had told him off before for drinking too much water and making himself sick.

Ivar was a Nord, or rather, one of the _Varengir,_ Nords who had settled outside Skyrim but maintained their old culture. Such were the men of Daggerfall and Shornhelm in the north, but also of Bruma or Anvil in Cyrodiil. Master Vinothren had retained him to teach Harald some of the basics of combat and the drill called 'Armatura', which was sparring between teacher and student.

Refreshed and with his breathing controlled, Harald picked up his helmet and went back. The lining was damp and it stank of old sweat, but he put it on anyway, he knew it was a foolish thing to complain about. He re-armed himself and stood ready.

"Alright." Said Ivar, and Harald saw the man had abandoned his club for a long spear. "Now we'll practice breaking through to the man behind a spear. This is the way of battle for the elves, and the spear is the most common weapon on Tamriel besides. For now, come forward and see what you can do."

They sparred again and Harald as always found himself grinning. While the exertion was great Ivar was a good teacher, and knew when to make breaks in the training. The Nord had told him usually soldiers were trained at 12, and so Harald had a few years yet before he would have properly started. Ivar had been the commander of a cohort in the Tenth Legion, the same as Harald's father and grandfather's. Even more than simply being fun, Harald as ever craved knowledge of his family, and because Ivar and Rurik had served together this need was satisfied.

"Keep the shield up and forward." Ivar insisted, and each time Harald came forward he would strike around or over, using his height and holding the spear high to make Harald hold his shield just as high.

Ivar held his spear in one hand, for the other arm ended at the elbow, an old wound got in service of the Emperor. The man was tall and grim faced from a life of soldiering and the outdoors. After his service he'd been allotted land on the banks of the Niben, but, that not being to his liking, he sold it and took service at Harald's father Rurik's estate as a steward. Later he'd found a wife and sired sons to work the land in his place while he oversaw the other workers. Master Vinothren had therefore retained him both to teach Harald the masculine arts and to give him some impression of the lands that were to become his later.

To Harald's surprise he apparently owned several valleys, as well as interests in Master Vinothren's merchant company. Harald's grandfather's exemplary service had gotten him riches, the greatest of which was perhaps the princely armour he took from the Imperial treasury. With the rest of his wealth he'd gained land in the hills of Alcaire, which Harald's father had only increased during his own service.

Master Vinothren had told him that once he became a man Harald would have to decide what to do. As such his guardian had discussed several different courses with him, not expecting him to decide yet, but wanting to give him the experience. This had meant learning to fight if he wanted to join the Legion like his longfathers, but also helping Master Vinothren with his calculations and going with the elf to his warehouses to order all his goods. Harald now spent three days a week with Ivar in the mornings, then going back home to bathe and learn with Master Vinothren. The other days Harald would go to the house of Pellas to learn music from Lady Elysa.

Lord Pellas had been busy with whatever him and Master Vinothren had been planning, and he'd welcomed Harald into him home. The admiral was as ever friendly and boisterous and Harald was happy there. Elaine was there as well, and he soon joined her harp lessons, quickly catching her up much to her annoyance.

Once Lord Pellas had found out about Ivar he'd retained the man for the training of his sons as well. Pellas' youngest Cyssander was too young for proper training, being the same age as Harald, but occasionally he would come around to play at swords with Harald, who'd taught him to sling. Cynric, the next oldest was the right age, as was Moric the oldest, and they often came to spar under the direction of Ivar to improve their skills. Watching them fight gave Harald something to look up to, but Ivar always stopped him from joining in, saying the blunted steel the older boys fought with was too heavy and dangerous for him or Cyssander to fight with. Instead they were both turned to archery, which, after Harald had surprised Ivar with his skills with a sling, the man had set him to learn.

Ivar had said that while the sling was good against the unarmoured, if he were ever to fight a knight from afar a bow, or better a crossbow, would do much better. Harald hadn't argued, but he'd kept up his skills with the sling anyway.

"Hail little man!" he heard a voice call. Ivar called a break to the fight and they turned. Just as he'd been thinking of them Cynric and Moric walked up, holding their own equipment.

Harald greeted them back and saw that Cyssander wasn't with them. "Where's your brother?" he asked.

"Sick as a dog." Replied Cynric happily.

"I trust the lad hasn't caught something serious?" asked Ivar.

Moric smirked this time. He was a few years older than his brother, about eighteen, "Just a cold, but our lady mother wants him to stay inside."

Ivar turned to Harald, "Well lad, either you can practice on your own or go back to the elf, though you'd be early."

Usually Harald would work at his archery when the sons of Pellas arrived for their own lessons, but he didn't feel like it without Cyssander there. He shook his head and said his farewells, walking back south toward the docks. The wind that day was strong from the south and salt was in the wind.

Tomorrow was the first day of Rain's Hand, and the Gardtide loomed, Master Vinothren had told Harald that in the north it was a celebration of some old goddess, but quite who he didn't know as he hadn't been paying attention. In Wayrest the Bretons celebrated their ancient Gardener Kings, of which Arnau was the most well-loved. Everywhere therefore there were wreaths and the people put out earthware pots of flowers and sweet smelling herbs. The Redguards and some of the other sailors from other parts of Tamriel celebrated it somewhat differently, but even they tied bunches of flowers to their masts to bring them fair weather.

Going through an alley Harald came to a larger street, made up in the manner of a Sentinel market with permanent houses where the traders lived but cloth stalls that folded out in the morning and retracted in the evening. The sky above could barely be seen through the colourful cloth awnings and the air was filled with the hawking cries of the merchants.

"Is that you Hal?"

Harald turned again, this was the second time he'd been surprised when he shouldn't have in a day. He'd have to pay better attention. That or he'd been unlucky.

"Arrik." He nodded to the boy.

Arrik was one of the gang who'd tried to steal his sling. After Harald had taught them how to make and use one they'd taken him for one of their own and followed him whenever he'd come to see them. The gang, such as it was, was Arrik, his sister Anna and a couple of their friends. They lived on the other side of the river and were Bretons, their colouring far darker than Harald's or the sons of Pellas. Their fathers were dockworkers and serving men, but when Harald had told Master Vinothren about them the elf had sneered. He hadn't mentioned going to see the other children again to his guardian, though no doubt the elf knew. The leader of the group was Whistler, the biggest of the lot. Whistler's mother worked in one of taverns by the docks which explained why he didn't know who his father was.

Harald had developed a healthy hatred of the other boy, for whenever he was around the gang would listen to him, but whenever Whistler was away they followed Harald. Whistler returned the hatred cordially, and would leave whenever Harald turned up, knowing Harald had business, and not caring particularly if the other children.

The two had never come to blows, even when Harald had scorned him and refused to help him with the sling. Whistler had just gotten Arrik to do it, for the boy was much smaller than Whistler and would fearfully obey him at any command. In truth while Harald despised Whistler, he cared little about it. Master Vinothren and Ivar both had assured him of the superiority of his blood over the Bretons, with Master Vinothren calling them half-breeds. That was enough, even if the others followed Whistler.

He returned to the present and Arrik was there. "Here." Said the other boy, "Take this would you? I've lugged it all the way from the Purple." He reached out and made to hand over a sack.

The Purple meant the Purple Wharf, known as such because someone had smashed a barrel of dye on it once, staining the wood a deep purple, as Arrik said, it was indeed quite far. Harald took the sack nodded, "What were you doing out there?" he asked.

"Byric smashed one of those big pots they're putting out for tomorrow so we legged it."

"I told you to be careful where your slinging!" Harald sneered, shouldering the sack and heading off.

"Yea yea I know! I told him so! I told him, 'Hal won't like that.'" Arrik insisted, falling into step.

"Well." Huffed Harald.

Harald had taught the others to sling because they were hungry, and because they'd eventually get caught and something bad happen to them if they kept stealing from the stalls all over the city as they did before to supplement the meagre provisions their parents could afford. In many cities the Church would provide or give out bowls of soup and crusts of bread to the poor, which they did in Wayrest, however, the alms-houses were all full of the Bretons and their children who'd been pushed out when Andorak Septim's army had taken the city and the system hadn't really ever recovered, the ruling northerners being relatively uninterested in providing for the conquered populace.

When he'd taught them though Harald had set rules, he told them not to sling at birds when they were in front of anything breakable, or in front of crowds. Children hunting birds was nothing special, even if they were taking them to eat rather than just for entertainment, but if anyone got hit by one of the stones it would attract attention, let alone one of the gang slinging a rock at someone's head and killing them.

Byric was another one Harald hated. Firstly, because the boy was simple and among other things would not shut up even when no one cared to listen to him, but also because he informed Whistler on everything the others did when Whistler was away. It went without saying that Harald was offended at the boy's name, for it was the same as his hero Sir Byric.

They turned into one of the shops, going through a side door and into a kitchen. A large woman was there, wooden spoon brandished at them as they came in.

"How many d'you get today lads? I'm almost out! It's all this flower business that's got everyone hungry!"

"A couple'a dozen Mags." Said Arrik, taking the sack from Harry and emptying the contents out onto the table in the centre of the room.

It was as Arrik said, and they were left with a small pile of dead birds.

"Well get started then lads!" squawked Mags, turning back to her own work and bringing her spoon down on some pastry.

It had been Harald's idea originally. The gull he'd brought down on the first day had gone back to the others' homes, divided among them, for eating. It hadn't been much, but after a while the others had gotten good enough that they could bring down a few gulls each day and throw them in a pot when they got home. Their families had welcomed the extra meat, but they'd complained that it tasted of fish, and that gull broth for each meal was boring.

So Harald had thought of a plan. It was merely an exercise for him, practice really, just as Master Vinothren had instructed him, in deciding where he would go once he was grown. Just as Master Vinothren took goods from one place and sold them in another, so Harald did the same. He told the others they could do better by selling the gulls to one of the merchants, and eventually they found Mags, really Magdella, who knew how to prepare gull so it didn't taste of fish anymore. The woman bought the gulls cheaply, much more so than other sorts of meat, and made it into all sorts of pastries which she sold to the people of the docks. A pasty for instance could be eaten the move, and stored for a time without spilling. They were hearty, and gull pies had become a popular food among the sailors, though it was rare that they knew what was it their meals, for Mags flavoured them with wild garlic and onions.

Harald went further though, and he instructed the others to work for Mags, plucking and gutting the birds. As all their families were involved in dock work or fishing it wasn't difficult to find buyers. The bird's feathers went to a variety of places, not least of which the fletchers for their arrows, while the bones of the birds were made into fishing hooks or went to craftsmen who made little pots out of them to put needles or quills in. The sinews of the bird they dried for a week or so and then pounded with a mallet to separate into fibres, which had a wide array of uses in tying up things, while the skin could be boiled and strained down to make glue.

Harald was rather pleased with himself, and had occasionally taken a tribute of some of the materials which he proudly crafted several crude bone arrows out of. When he'd presented them to Ivar the Nord had praised his cleverness and they'd spent an afternoon loosing the arrows at targets. Most had broken on impact, even against straw, but Harald had been happy nevertheless.

A short time into the process some of the other children came in, each carrying another small sack. Greeting Mags they dumped their own catches out and set to work. They chattered as they worked, with Ela, her name a shorted form of one of the great queens of Wayrest, related the story of how one of the gulls had attacked her, proudly showing off a gash on her arm.

"Came swooping down 'e did, near cut off my hand and all!"

The others laughed and commiserated. Arrik turned slightly to Harald as he smoothly skinned another of the gulls. "By the way…" he said quietly, "that boat's still there."

Harald looked at him. "Really? Did you check it out?"

Arrik nodded, "There's a big hole in it, but the frame looks fine. You'd have to find a rudder as well, and of course a mast from somewhere."

Harald nodded, deep in thought. As his grandfather has apparently so much liked sailing, and as Master Vinothren had acquired much wealth through ships, Harald had wanted to see about it himself. He was quite convinced that Master Vinothren would just buy him a boat if he asked for one, but truly he wanted to do it himself. As such he'd mentioned that the others should keep an eye out when they were on the docks for any abandoned boats, especially those that looked like they might be salvageable with a little effort. He'd convinced the others by telling them they could use it to fish as well and that this might get them more food, or more to sell.

"Let's take a look at it at some point. I want to see what'll be needed." Harald told Arrik, who agreed.

After a while though Harald began to grow bored, and left the others to their work. He snagged a pasty on the way out, one of the ones he knew to not be gull but mutton, and he ate as he walked. It occurred to him that as he went back he might see if Cyssander was feeling better, or whether Elaine wanted to come sailing with him once he got the boat fixed. After that thought he soon found himself at the door to the house of Pellas, and a servant admitted him and led him to Lady Elysa.

"Young Harald!" she exclaimed, "It's good to see you, I'm sorry Cyssander wasn't able to come practice with you. You've come from your training?"

Harald nodded, no doubt she could tell from his clothes, which were hardly his normal outfit. "My lady," he said pleasantly, "I thought to come see how your son was, and if there was anything I could do."

"That is very kind of you." The lady said indulgently, "He's resting now, a spring cold I'm sure."

Harald made a few more remarks, waiting in hope that Elaine would turn up at some point, and indeed she did. Bounding down the steps, her scarlet cloak bouncing behind her, an ever present mark of her nobility. She ran up and embraced him and he smiled.

"How are you Harald?" she asked him, "And what's that smell?"

"Blood." Harald answered simply, for indeed he'd been dismembering the gulls along with the others not half an hour before.

"You've been training? Don't crack your head open again!"

Harald did not bother to correct her, he'd slipped once at the training ground and cut his head, and then later found it to be bleeding a little when he brushed his hair too vigorously a day later. Elaine had been quite alarmed when he'd started bleeding without an apparent source and he'd had to assure her he hadn't been cursed.

"I'll leave you two together," said Lady Elysa, "Daughter, we've weaving to do, don't be too long."

"Mother says we're beginning another panel today." Elaine said conspiratorially once the Lady had left the courtyard. She led him to one of the benches by the little pool in the courtyard of Pellas' home.

"Really?" asked Harald, "What of?"

"Don't know yet, it's very exciting though!"

Harald nodded, for though Master Vinothren had told him it was a woman's work, he'd been very interested in the weaving of historical events that Elaine and her mother were working on.

"Listen." He told the girl, "Do you want to come sailing with me?"

"What?" Elaine said in a rather unladylike way, "Sailing? In a boat?"

"Yes Elaine in a boat. On the sea."

"My father's got a boat."

"Your father's an admiral, he's got lots of boats."

Elaine laughed a silly laugh and Harald along with her. "It's not ready yet." He said, "But I want to try it. Maybe sail across the harbour first, or around the sea wall to Dreughside."

"Do you know how?"

"No, but Master Vinothren says this is the largest port in the world, it shouldn't be too difficult to find someone to teach me."

"Alright," Elaine replied, "But you've got to teach me to shoot. Mother's being unfair and Father just laughed at me when I wanted to come join you for the fighting. Mother said archery is 'acceptable' though, so I want to learn!"

Harald thought for a moment, "Master Vinothren says the Bosmer use bows and arrows to fish sometimes, come sailing and you can shoot there."

"What do they wait for the fish to jump out the water or something?" she asked him in confusion.

Harald thought again, "I don't actually know, I'll ask Ivar. But you'll come?"

Elaine nodded, "As long as you bring your archery things yes."

Harald grinned.

Elaine turned, looking toward the stairs, "But I really must get back to Mother, I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Of course!"

"Alright then, you can tell me about this boat tomorrow!" she said and after another hug ran off up the stairs, almost tripping on the first one to Harald's great amusement.


	15. Chapter 15

_AN: We're proceeding nicely with the planned events. Happily, I've been able to fold various superfluous scenes into a smaller space, but generally I'm quite happy with the progress of this fic, although I still have reservations about its pacing. Feedback always welcome, literally any comment helps because of the way forums aggregate content so saying something if you liked it, or indeed if you didn't._

-x-

The work on the little boat went well, and soon Harald had sailed a few times round the harbour in it, dodging between the larger ships that plied the water. He'd jealously guarded the craft and sworn Arrik to secrecy regarding it, for he had no wish for someone to steal it, or, a more likely scenario, for Whistler or one of the others to take it for themselves.

The boat was not large, likely, Harald though, only for a single fisherman with his catch. That meant that it could fit three children comfortably, with Harald using the extra space for rope and sailcloth he'd set Arrik to find around the city. They'd used spars of wood from several other broken boats around on the beach, with one small square barge with a broken back yielding some good timber, though all its nails had been taken.

They'd even tried gluing the planks as Harald had seen done on larger ships but the glue that the children made from the gulls had proven unreliable, and Arrik had returned one day with a story about having to drag the boat back swimming because it had taken on so much water when the boy had tested it.

Harald himself was also a good swimmer, though having been taught by the Argonians of Master Vinothren's house he used a different stroke to Arrik. Master Vinothren had told him that if ever he would sail then swimming would serve him well, and Ivar also told him that the Legions would teach their men to swim in case they had to cross rivers. These combined were enough persuasion for Harald, though truly he'd been intending to learn anyway. Living in such close proximity to the sea had that effect.

The actual craft of sailing was also quite easy to learn in a city of sailors, though in this case Ivar proved his knowledge again, having some knowledge of weather and tides. The summer winds off the Bjoulsae were warm and gentle, and even out of the harbour into the wider river they were very pleasant to sail about in. Ivar cautioned him against travelling west though, for to pass the rocks under the cliffs on that bank of the river he would have to sail further out, then describe a curve back toward the bank. Though he was confident in his little boat, Harald did not trust it as far as that.

Eventually then Harald felt himself ready and went to the house of Pellas to retrieve Elaine.

"You can't wear that!" He found himself saying when he saw her.

He had arranged the trip with her during one of their lessons. Master Vinothren knew about it, as did Lady Elysa, and presumably Lord Pellas as well. Master Vinothren had told them both about it, for Ivar reported regularly to the elf on Harald's actions. The boy knew this, and didn't think it offensive as he might if Ivar was reporting to someone else, and besides, Master Vinothren mostly kept out of things, though Harald's heart swelled whenever the elf would tell him how proud his father would be of his learning.

"What's wrong with it? You said I'd need to be warm." Replied Elaine, pouting at him and holding up her cloak.

"Yes but if you fall in that'll all be soaked." Harald said in exasperation. Elaine, being the daughter of an admiral was dressed in fine cotton imported from Elsweyr in the south. Though it would keep her warm it would soak up all the water and Harald knew she'd soon be miserable. He knew his friend to be intolerant of discomfort and being cold and wet on a boat nowhere near her home would grate on her.

"Look don't you have anything else? You must have." She'd even kept her scarlet cloak on, that would have to go.

"Nothing like yours." She replied.

Harald meanwhile was standing in the sort of clothes he went out in the city in, or used whenever he was with Ivar. They were not rough, like the clothes of Arrik and the other children, but they were quite plain. Considering the other boy though Harald had an idea.

"What about your brother's? They'd fit you."

The idea seemed to amuse Elaine and they swiftly plundered Cyssander's wardrobe and soon Elaine was dressed as a boy, with her golden hair hidden under a hat. They then went to Mag's shop and retrieved a few things, firstly a small box of cooking supplies that Harald was taking in case they did catch any fish, as well as his bow in its oilskin and a quiver of arrows. Feeling a little hungry he dove into the shop a grabbed a couple of pasties as well, handing one to Elaine along with the bow and walking off.

As they walked Elaine was full of questions. Where they were to go, what they were to do, and so on. Harald answered them as best he could but truly he'd yet to decide fully.

"Out of the harbour definitely." He mused to himself.

The walk down to the beach was a short one, and the boat was still there happily. Harald then went to the dock and dug in the rocks there to retrieve the sail, rudder and paddle he'd hidden there. Ivar had told him that the craft would be far less likely to be stolen if its restoration would be difficult or expensive, so Harald had hidden the useful parts of it in another oilskin.

"Here, help me with this." He told Elaine as he tried to wrestle the rudder into its lock.

She joined him and together they lifted it in then set the boom and hoisting the sail and securing the halyard.

Stowing their cargo Harald set his shoulder against the hull and pushed, Elaine taking up a station on the other side. It was rather like their first meeting when they'd had to open a door together to eavesdrop on the lord's gathering those months ago.

The water was cold on his legs but Harald felt joy in the feeling. The waves lapped at them and the boat found its sitting. Elaine was already in, and she took Harald by the legs as he hauled himself up, swinging him around.

"Has your father told you anything of sailing?" Harald asked her.

"No," she replied, "But Moric has. He took me out with Mother round the harbour when he got _Leaper_."

Recently Elaine's oldest brother had been given command of a small galley. To the consternation of some he'd named it after an old demon that had troubled the land long ago. However, he'd soon proved himself by the capture of a few smugglers who'd tried to pass the port authorities without paying the toll. Harald had heard of it from Elaine who'd been very proud of her brother, but he'd also been amused at Master Vinothren's reaction, who, being so involved in trade, seemed almost morally offended that smuggling would be attempted in the city.

"Take the tiller then and I'll have the outhaul, you won't have to keep moving about then." He told her, and carefully they switched places.

Now Elaine sat at the stern of the boat, the tiller in one hand and looking forward. Harald hunched under the boom with the outhauling rope in his hand. While Elaine would steer he'd have to haul the boom in and keep tension on it for them to make any headway, otherwise the sail would just flap uselessly.

They waited a few minutes for the wind, but the river Wayrest bestrode was well named, and soon wind spilled down the mountains and along the Windrush into the city, taking the sail firmly and pulling them away from the bank.

"Which way are we going then?" Elaine asked happily, grinning to herself as she sat.

Harald looked over at her, then away toward the harbour tower at the edge of the city. The red flag there was at half-mast while a yellow one was flying high.

"The tide will be coming in soon. More so out into the river." He said, for though the tides were not strong due to the Illiac Bay being almost a large lake, they still flowed. "We'll go east." He decided. "There's salt marshes all along there, we can get some crabs."

"Alright. I'll come around to port then." Elaine replied, surprising Harald with the confidence in her voice. He half expected her to use 'left' instead.

They hugged close to the sea wall as they left the harbour, avoiding one large cog coming in as they went. Ruddy faces, Lainlynmen probably, looking out at them as they went by.

Their sailing was not fast, nor was it particularly smooth, for the boat was wide and somewhat heavy under Elaine's hand, but when Harald looked back she brushed a strand of golden hair that had escaped her hat out of her eyes and he saw white teeth in a grin.

"Enjoying yourself?" he smirked from his own seat.

She looked at him, then, her grin growing savage, turned the tiller and the boom flew across the boat almost striking his head had he not ducked. Harald scrambled back up alarmed and took the slack from the overhaul, looking at her in surprise.

"I am actually." Elaine said playfully, laughing at his fall. Her grin still fixed on her face she turned toward the west and looked out across the Bjoulsae. "I can see why Father loves the sea. He says it's in our blood."

"Truly." Said Harald, still looking at her. It was more statement than question.

They sailed on a while, and Elaine proved a skilful hand as a steersman, as she'd said, likely from her blood.

They talked of nothing and more as they sailing, of silly things about what they'd been doing since they last saw each other. Passing by the last limits of the city and came around toward the ruins Aphren's Hold, the ancient seat of the kings of Gavoudon. They could see the castle far off on a hill, but Harald had no intention of sailing all the way there, that would be the work of a day or more.

Instead he switched places with Elaine and they went up the Camber, into the salt marsh. The reeds were long there, and saltwort and sea rush grew along the banks. The land was flat, but occasionally there were sandy rises with dunes with the long thin swordgrass that grew on them, there were even a few gnarled trees.

"Let's make for there." Harald said, pointing to one of the dunes with a tree on top of it, roots exposed where the sand had blown away. He took out the paddle and brought them in.

"So." Harald said as they bumped against the shore. "How does it feel to be a sailor?"

"Well I don't think Father will give me a ship yet."

Harald laughed. "If he did what would you call it?"

The girl frowned, eyebrows coming together in thought. " _Lady Elegant_." She said eventually.

"Won't that be very confusing? Lady Elegant of the _Lady Elegant?"_

"Alright, _Silverhands_ then."

"It's a good name." Harald told her, and they got out, splashing down into the water and pulling the boat up the bank a little so it wouldn't drift away. After that came out his cooking equipment, as well as the bow and arrows and the food he'd brought along for them to eat in case they didn't catch anything. They decided to eat then, and after they'd try some arrow-fishing, a skill Cassius had taught him, apparently it was known in Black Marsh when the Argonians there otherwise preferred not to catch their fish by swimming. Happily, the pasties were still at least warm, for Harald had wrapped them well, and they munched contentedly, Harald licking his hand after some of the gravy had run down onto it. After that it was an apple each and half a loaf with some cheese, which was unpleasantly dry for Harald had forgotten any butter. Water from a skin washed it down though and they were soon ready for their expedition.

"We should mark this place so we don't lose the boat." Elaine said before they set off, "I don't want to have to walk back to the city."

Harald nodded and collected the rest of their things while Elaine took a blue ribbon from her hair and tied it to the tree on the dune above them. The little strip of cloth fluttered merrily in the wind and he knew they'd be able to see if from far away.

They set off with Harald shouldering his bow. "There's rockfish around here, Ivar says, but crabs too. We can make a fire and cook one."

"How do you shoot into the water? Does it work?"

"As long as the they're near the surface, that's for the fish, but crabs you can just pick up."

On they walked, hopping over small streams, brushing reeds aside and crunching over their beds.

"Here looks good." Said Harald as they came to a small lagoon.

"I don't see anything." Replied Elaine, crouching and peering into the gloomy water.

It was true, and though the water was still it was also dark, a mud pool rather than one a fish might be found it. They stayed a while and Harald even nocked an arrow, but it seemed that Elaine was right and they moved on.

By one of the larger streams Harald called a stop again and set about gathering reed heads. "If we tear them up and throw them in the fish think its food. They can't tell what it is till they've eaten it." He explained.

Elaine helped and soon they had a few handfuls of the stuff. Harald once again nocked his arrow and they threw their bait in.

"Look there!" exclaimed Elaine, pointing, "We've got one!"

Harald looked and there was indeed something in the water. He drew back and took a long sight, then loosed, the fletching brushing his cheek as it sped past. The arrow lanced into the water but there was a splash and they saw no more.

"Did you hit it?" Elaine asked.

Harald frowned, rather embarrassed.

"Go in and have a look."

Harald looked at her.

"What? Alright then, let me try!"

Reluctantly he handed over the bow and they relocated, collecting some more bait and readying themselves. This time though nothing came to investigate the bait for a long time, so long that they both got bored and almost decided to move away, before Harald convinced Elaine to collect some of the swordgrass so they could flavour whatever they cooked later. After accumulating a pocket full of the stuff Elaine tugged at his sleeve before shooting off to bend the bow again. Harald looked and saw a rainbow shape in the water.

Without another word Elaine loosed, the arrow again piercing the water with a little splash. This time though it hit something and bounced back, sticking out of the water at an angle. Elaine began celebrating but Harald jumped in, wading over and pulling out a rockfish as long as his arm.

"Well done!" he called over, holding up the fish.

"I told you I was a better shot!" she laughed back.

Happily, they set off, going back to the boat and unpacking the cooking things. Harald got out his tinderbox with a flint and steel and set to work, with them collecting a number of twigs and a few small branches from the trees around them. The wood was dark and dense, but that meant it burnt well once Harald had got the fire going, kneeling down beside it with stinging eyes and blowing into the base.

They both prepared the fish, Elaine listening intently to Harald's instruction which he'd only received himself a few days before from Mags, who before she used gulls had used fish instead in her pies. First they laid it out, about two feet long and heavy, with five or six lines of bright scales running along it. Elaine held it down while Harald took his knife in both hands and drew it along. Mags had said to do this with a bag over the creature to stop the scales pinging off and flying everywhere, but Harald hadn't one to hand and indeed, one scale flew between the childrens' heads and they both laughed. After that Harald made cuts to both sides of the fish, slicing away two fillets. He almost botched one as his knife his something hard, a bone he thought, but eventually he got the skin the fillets as well and they were ready for the pan.

Sizzling away in a little oil Harald set Elaine to chopping the swordgrass while he mixed salt, garlic and lemon juice, discarding the husks of the lemons simply by lobbing them away from the little camp. The red and white flesh turned pink, with a few bits of it going brown from the cooking. Elaine mixed the herbs with the sauce and they poured it in, marinating the meat in it for the last part of the cooking.

The smell was very good and Harald found himself salivating. The bitterness of the lemon juice mixed with the strong scents of garlic and the swordgrass was excellent, and soon they were digging into the fillets happily, with the meat chewy but rich and well flavoured.

They finished the first fillet quickly and moved onto the second, but as Elaine was taking her first bite of her half of it she stopped, her mouth open and knife poised.

"What?" Harald asked, looking up, but as he did he saw something on his right out of the corner of his eye and jumped up startled.

On the edge of their camp, and more importantly between the boat and their own position, Harald saw an enormous crab. It must have been at least as tall as him, and it waved its claws at him menacingly, each one as large as his head.

Elaine seized him by the arm and they ran to the tree, stumbling up the dune in their haste. At the top they turned, still panting, and saw that the crab hadn't followed them but seemed to be ransacking their things.

"What a horrid thing!" exclaimed Elaine, "Look! It's stealing our fish!"

Indeed, the crab had seized both their cooked fillet and the butchered carcass in two of its smaller claws and was now making away from the camp. Filled with rage at the theft of their hard work Harald ran down grasped his bow, quickly stringing an arrow and loosing it at the creature. He saw now that it was not quite so big as he'd first thought, being actually slightly shorter than him, but it was still quite large, and held itself strangely, with a long lower body and six legs, but a more upright torso. Two larger arms came from where its shoulders were, arching around to its front while it held its stolen goods in two smaller arms coming from its belly.

Uncaring of Harald's will though the arrow missed by a good foot or more, flying off and landing somewhere in the marsh while the crab scuttled on swiftly toward another set of dunes. Elaine who had come down the dune after him came up and peered after it.

"I wonder where it's going." She asked. "Let's follow it."

Harald nodded, still wishing to avenge his cooking, and they went off in pursuit of the creature, hopping over the streams and going through the reeds after the crab, which on its six legs had outpaced them quickly.

They came to the next island of dunes and climbed up the sand. The crab had gone right, Harald could see its strange tracks, and they went left so they didn't meet it suddenly. Once at the top, concealed behind a clump of grass, they lay down and peered down into the small valley in between dunes.

"Dreugh!" Harald exclaimed upon seeing a whole host of the crabs, some much larger than the others.

The Dreugh were besmer, crustacean beast-folk who usually lived in eastern Tamriel. They were common in many places though, which was how the district of Dreughside got its name a few hundred years ago. Master Vinothren had told him stories about how Lord Vivec had fought their king, the Ruddy Man back in the Merethic Era and thrown him and all his cities down into the waves. There the Dreugh had lived ever since, though they came up to the surface to hunt and terrorise the people of the coastal regions. Only in Black Marsh were they unknown, for the Argonians hunted them mercilessly for their hide and meat.

The larger Dreugh, about half a dozen of them, these ones definitely as big as a man, were surrounding one of their own though Harald knew not what for. A score of smaller specimens like the Fish-thief were posturing against each other for scraps of food and the fish carcass was swiftly stolen by three others who ripped it in pieces and gorged themselves on it.

Just then a clamour arose among the larger ones and a fight broke out. The crowd was a flailing of brown-red limbs and a horrible snapping noise as they used their deadly claws on the one between them. Something flew from the swarm and the children saw the smaller Dreugh scuttle over to it, surrounding it. Amidst the boiling limbs they saw the object was a clawed arm.

"They're eating it." Elaine breathed.

And soon there was nothing left, with the larger Dreugh finishing their cannibalism just as abruptly as it had begun, then disappearing over the dunes on the other side of the small valley, leaving only a few of their smaller brethren still gnawing at the corpse.

"We should get something. So they believe us when we get back." Harald said.

Elaine rolled onto her side looking at him. "What? Why? Let's just go!"

Harald himself rolled to face her, "We can't, what if they eat a fisherman or something? No one knows about them, so if we go back and tell your Father there's Dreugh over here he won't believe us. So we have to get proof."

Elaine drew breath to answer but closed her mouth with a frown. "Fine." She said eventually, what do you want to get?"

"That arm. It's fresh, and its big." The limb was at least as long as Harald was tall, and he quickly explained his plan. "You shoot them a few times and I'll run down and grab it. Don't try to kill them, I don't think the arrows would get through their shells anyway, just distract them and then run back to the boat."

Not without hesitation Elaine agreed and took the bow, sliding back down the dune and circling around. Soon he saw her head pop out of some grass on the other side of the arena, she looked at him and he gave a signal. The bow bent and the arrow flew, striking the sand next to one of the smaller Dreugh.

As Harald had hoped another fight broke out immediately between the closest two Dreugh, with the other few there gathering as well. Harald waited till the second shot came then bolted down, sand giving way beneath his feet and sliding the last part of the descent. He picked himself up and ran to the discarded arm, seizing it. It was lighter than he'd thought and he ran to a gap between the dunes, but as he went something grabbed his ankle and pulled him down. He thought he'd tripped but he turned to see one of the creatures clicking at him, swiftly coming toward him. Then an arrow flew in, bouncing off the crab-man's carapace and spinning into the air. Without thinking Harald reached out and caught it as it came down, stabbing forward at the Dreugh's face. It retreated and he discarded the arrow for the fallen limb, taking it and swinging it like a club. The clawed end of his new weapon struck the Dreugh on the shoulder, knocking it on its side and Harald struck at it again and again as it fell.

"Harald! Come on!" Elaine was running up and she grabbed one end of the limb, the bow still in her hand and they ran together across the marsh back toward the boat, their trophy clutched between them.


	16. Chapter 16

So we're finally going to have some background on some of the characters who keep being mentioned and start to progress with the plot outside Wayrest. The next few chapters are going to be on larger one split up for readership reasons, and I'm afraid they consist mainly of exposition. There's not really much action a child can get up to, given this isn't an anime.

-x-

They returned to Wayrest in much the same manner as they'd left it, though on this trip they were followed by a mob of gulls who swooped and clattered all about the boat, sometimes coming to perch on the prow and screech at the children, attempting to get to the Dreugh arm they had sitting in the stern.

Fortunately, the patrol vessel when they sailed into the harbour was Leaper, Elaine's brother Moric's ship. Excitedly Elaine jumper to her feet and began calling to the other ship, attracting enough attention from them that several sailors eventually went to get their captain, who, once he recognised his sister, had them brought aboard immediately. Moric berated them both for sailing off and getting into danger, checking over his sister to make sure he wasn't harmed, but eventually he relented and send them to shore in another boat, sending one of his sailors with them to make sure they didn't get into any trouble.

Lord Pellas' reaction was much the same once they told their story and the Admiral laughed and exclaimed when they recounted the story of the stolen fish and the pursuit of the smaller Dreugh. However, Lady Elysa interrupted and send them for a bath and then to bed, with Harald not realising just how tired he was till he was already asleep.

Later Elaine shook him awake.

"I lost your bow." She told him and looked down. "Sorry. I just remembered I left it behind when we were getting back in the boat."

Harald hadn't noticed its absence on the way back, and he was rather disgruntled at being woken up for Elaine just to tell him that, but Master Vinothren had always told him he should be polite.

"It's fine, I can always get another."

"Father's been talking to Moric, I could hear them earlier. I thought we might go down and see what they were up to."

Fully awake now Harald agreed and they padded downstairs, one of the blankets covering them both as it had turned cold while they slept.

As they neared the courtyard they heard voices and Harald saw Lord Pellas and Lady Elysa, as well as Moric, as well as Cassius and Master Vinothren all sitting around a crackling brazier. The Argonian saw them first and made a hiss, drawing his master's attention to the children.

"Ah!" exclaimed the elf, "I understand you've had an adventure!" and he smiled.

Harald approached and made to explain, but then he realised that the others like Lord Pellas had probably sent for Master Vinothren once they got back and the elf would have arrived while he and Elaine were still asleep.

Before he could say anything else Alaric, another of Elaine's brothers came in. "I'm back Father." He announced, "They confirmed it."

"Well done lad." Replied the admiral, and he looked to Master Vinothren, "It seems your arcane knowledge extends to even this matter!"

Master Vinothren smiled humbly and in turn looked to Harald "See now what adventure brings." He told the boy. Then he went back to the others. "It was rather a long time ago but it's good that I can still remember it." The elf continued. "So, as I mentioned earlier, and as young Alaric has confirmed with the Chironasium, the Dreugh's mating habits mean they come up to the surface to lay their eggs. During this period they are far more aggressive, especially in their pursuit of food. Notably in the Second Era they came almost up to the walls of the city, though as I recall that was due to interference of a rebellious lord who sought to use them to attack the city."

"Be that as it may," Pellas replied, "What am I to do? I am Admiral of Wayrest, if these beasts threaten the commerce of the city it is my charge to stop them. There are many villages of fisherfolk around the marshes, are they in danger?"

"Possibly." Master Vinothren ventured, "There are only a few of them correct?" he asked Harald.

"About six of the big ones, more of the small ones though."

"If that is their entire population then we have nothing to worry about, though it would indeed be good to root them out in any case. Remember that these are animals, once perhaps they were a sort of Beastfolk, but now they build nothing and have no culture. Treat them as you would a large wolf pack."

"Right willingly." Said Pellas, "My sons, you will take Leaper tomorrow and see what you may see out there. If there are few slay them, if many, assess their numbers and return for reinforcements."

As it turned out there was a much larger population of the Dreugh than they'd first seen, and Moric returned the next day having taken a wound on his arm from the claws of the crab-men. Pellas dispatched three galleys and two hundred men up the coast and they fought a battle through caves that had been found under the ruins of Alphren's Hold. It a fine tale that Moric told when he got back, of duelling with some of the beasts while his marines threw spears or ropes to immobilise them. Indeed, Harald had been upset he wasn't allowed to come along. After all, he reasoned futilely to Master Vinothren, he and Elaine had found the Dreugh first, they should be allowed to see their adventure through.

In the end Moric got all the credit, especially for venturing into the marshes and the Hold itself, which was regarded by many of the villagers as cursed. They thanked him and a delegation of their elders came back to the city to pay homage to the king. This was what Master Vinothren had meant when he'd spoken of the effects of adventures, and the elf was feverishly excited in the following week, attempting to capitalise on the incident to further empower the lords of the city, or so Corentin explained to him when Harald had asked about it.

Elaine had been equally unhelpful. Her brother had brought her back a Dreugh skull, fashioned into a ridiculous hat which she delighted in wearing to scare her younger brother. The skull was rather wide so she occasionally ran into things or got stuck in doorways, which always cheered Harald up when he saw it. Nor had Lord Pellas forgotten them, presenting both Harald and Elaine with two new bows and accompanying other equipment. He'd praised them both for their cleverness and bravery and told Harald that there was surely a fine future for him when he became a man.

Harald had thanked him for his words and for the gifts, but it was really Master Vinothren's praise he wanted, not that of Pellas. Eventually though one afternoon Master Vinothren called the boy to his study. Before him were the many papers of the clearing process the merchants of Wayrest used to speed their business instead of relying on coinage. As Harald presented himself the elf looked up.

"Ah, my boy, it's good you here, give me a moment." He said, holding up a finger. With that he looked back down, made a few scratches with his quill and then set it aside. He took a salt shaker from his drawer and liberally applied it, then sealed the note and set it aside. "Here is a petition I've written on behalf of the fishermen's delegation. It is for the king and seeks an increase in military expenditures. Such an increase is impossible under the current taxes, and because we've thus far been less than successful in lowering taxes through our own petitions I've decided to approach it from the other side."

Harald followed the explanation with great interest, remembering the meeting Master Vinothren had spoken at a few years ago. "Why would that lower taxes though?" Harald asked, for surely, if expenditure increased so must incomes.

"By spreading the burden more widely." Master Vinothren explained simply, "Currently the exchequer takes advantage of the centrality and relative lack of power of the lords within the city. They have great wealth but no castle or servingmen, thus they are easy to tax. Comparably the Duke of Gavaudon pays only a pittance and the marcher lords of Alcaire are forgiven even their takings from trade with Rivenspire. You see, while the lords here in the city have no lands, they have wealth, and they can move it and seek another master if they find this one unfriendly. Comparably, if the lords of the kingdom are taxed they can't move their castles or their land, which are their only strengths."

Harald was amazed, for though Master Vinothren had a reputation for cleverness Harald hadn't thought it would be so simple. "How did you think of it?" he asked.

"Something your grandfather said to me once." Replied Master Vinothren, "I've often found it of great use, 'Make for a lesser gate' he said."

"What does it mean?"

"It was a military phrase really, a lesser gate is less well guarded, therefore easier to storm, which Magnus occasionally had cause to do. In my case it simply means approaching a problem from an oblique angle."

The elf was silent for a few seconds after that, considering Harald carefully. "That's why I've called you here today really." He said, "Come and sit, we have much to discuss."

Harald again did as he was bade and waiting for the elf to continue.

"I'll begin by saying that in the four years you've been under my care you've yet to give me reason for disappointment." Master Vinothren said.

Harald said nothing but the warmth of pride was in his chest.

"Now, you know me as somewhat of a cynic, therefore it may not surprise you to know I was rather sceptical of your father's letter, it was written in his hand and had his seal, but it was still a very strange thing to receive, especially as it arrived years after his death. It instructed me that I was to go to such and such a place and then to see to your education. But while unusual, I had no particular reason to doubt it, and so I've made it my duty to see to your education as he had instructed. Over time my fears being alleviated somewhat by your growing resemblance to him, particular here." The elf said, and he motioned to Harald's eyes and brow.

Master Vinothren smiled, "However, over the last few years these doubts have been almost completely removed. You remind me of your father, but better still of your grandfather. This latest adventure fighting Dreugh is a fine example." And his master sat back in his chair and his smile grew wider. "That is exactly what Magnus would have done."

The elf was silent, still regarding Harald with a smile on his face, but his eyes seemed unfocused, thinking of his old friend. For Harald's part his heart soared, and he bit his lip to stop himself from beaming.

"Anyway, to the purpose of why I've called you here." Master Vinothren said with a start. "Harald my lad, you are soon coming to an age when you might choose your future. You aren't a peasant or one of the numberless poor in the city, and so you have choices. As I've said before there are many things you might do, and I've always endeavoured to give you the tools to do these things, rather than push you toward one in particular. You've helped me with the clearing before, so you know at least some of what it is to be a merchant. You've sailed a little in that boat of yours, so you know about being a captain, and you've learned from Ivar, so you know some soldiering. As I say, I've never tried to persuade you toward any one of these choices, or any other, and choosing one doesn't prevent you from changing your mind. Take Pellas' sons for example, they will serve in the navy with their father, but also will support him in his mercantile activities, traveling to foreign lands and seeking out whatever may be bought and sold. Perhaps in time they might be given lands themselves and become lords. There are many possibilities."

"As long as it is honourable and worthy, neither I nor your father watching from Aetherius will have any reason to be ashamed of your, and I know you will do well in whatever you decide. But, to make such a decision I think it good to give you a clear understanding of where you've come from already. You've often asked me to tell you of your father and grandfather, so tonight I shall. They were both worthy men, and though I knew your father less well than I knew Magnus, I hope this will be enough for you to understand what sort of men they were, and therefore whether you might wish to follow and do as they did, something you've mentioned to me before."

Harald had grown more excited as Master Vinothren spoke and he eagerly awaited Master Vinothren's next remarks.

"Where to begin?" the elf mused to himself. "I suppose at the beginning, a hundred years ago with Magnus and I."


	17. Chapter 17

Largely exposition I'm afraid, but I'm setting stuff up for the future. If anyone is confused at events I don't blame them given a lot happened, so either consult a timeline or feel free to ask.

-x- 

Master Vinothren leant back in his chair, carefully considering the plaster ceiling, his hands resting on his lap. "Where to begin?" he remarked, "I suppose at the beginning… I know little of your family before your grandfather. His own father's name is unknown to me, and all that I recall is that he served in the Legion and was granted land in Sheogorad in the north of Morrowind, he had a peculiar habit of worrying at a drake, one of the old coins, apparently it was special to him, I suppose it might have been the first one he owned or something similarly superstitious. For myself though, my own family were kwama miners in that region, and as such your grandfather Magnus and I grew up together. We would work the mines, fish along the shore and till the fields. It was a very simple life, and I suppose, rather dull though we of course knew no better. Happily, the crises that plagued Tamriel and particular Morrowind passed us largely by. We had few ships stop at our island, usually to pick up cargos of kwama eggs, and so we only occasionally received news. I recall on one occasion we were told that the Neravine had disappeared again, having been unaware that he'd returned." The elf said with a grin, "As we grew older Magnus and I made a pack together that we would leave to seek our fortune elsewhere, and that we would always keep good faith and aid each other. We brought a boat, not much larger than that one you took to the marshes, and we began to take trips further and further away from the island. Our plan was to go to Solstheim, for at that time there was great upset there due to some outrage by the Dumner Redoran of Raven Rock against the Skaal tribes of that island, and we thought to go and see what there was to see there. Due to your grandfather being a Nord and myself a Dumner we would have been able to enter the conflict on either side if we wished."

Master Vinothren eyes met Harald's. "The night we finally arrived though the Ministry of Truth fell."

Harald gaped, "The Red Year! You saw it?" he was amazed, the event had devastated the central island of Morrowind, Vvardenfell and Master Vinothren had always spoken of it in reverential terms.

"Yes, it wasn't Dagoth Ur or the Argonian hordes that dealt the deathblow to Morrowind, it was Vivec himself. The arrogance of the Tribunal, that he would stop a moon from falling and merely hold it above his city by his sorcerous might, might that was stolen from his brother I should note!" Master Vinothren sighed, "It's perhaps difficult to understand for you, but for a thousand years the Dumner kept faith with the Tribunal. To have them defeated in a year and their works undone would be one thing, for all else that occurred to happen in the same time was a terrible blow. That Vivec would place the Tribunal's priesthood in that same moon is the height of arrogance… Certainly Vivec was very powerful, perhaps one of the most powerful sorcerers that has existed, but the problem with any such sorcery is that the spell fails when its creator does, so when Vivec was lost fighting the Daedra his magic was strong enough to stop Baar Dur falling, but only for a few years. The moon crashed into Vivec's city, killing all within and around, throwing down Ebonheart and only leaving the Hlallu of Balmora a few weeks to escape down the river before great rents in the ground opened up due to the impact disturbing Red Mountain."

Master Vinothren paused for a moment to collect himself, "In any case, Magnus and I were in a tavern, hearing the news and deciding what to do next when we were thrown to the floor. We rose, only to find our cups broken along with all the windows of the town. It took several weeks before we knew what had happened, but the whole of Vvardenfell was covered in smoke and fume and Red Mountain thundered day and night. We knew that we had been made orphans, and for a time we didn't know what to do. Eventually we signed onto a small fleet organised by House Redoran to go to the relief of their lands and take away as many as could be found and bring aid to those who needed it. We sailed, and the Inner Sea became the Smoking Sea, a bubbling sludge from Khuul to Deshaan."

"Now, after a while Magnus had an idea. You see Sheogorad, being a particularly remote region, was home to many of House Telvanni's Mage-Lords. We knew of one who lived nearby, a well-known necromancer, and your grandfather thought we might go and see if we could steal away any of their magical artefacts. This was, as I can see you realise from your face, a rather foolish plan, but we were young and had little to lose. We travelled back and found the tower abandoned and carried off a number of items that we later sold when we returned to Raven Rock. We were cheated on price due to our inexperience but we formed an arrangement with several of the East Empire Company officers to sell our findings to. Six months and several trips around the coast later we were much better off. Our good fortune, though it should be said not Morrowind's, only increased when the Ascension War began."

"As you know, for many hundreds of years the Dunmer, particularly House Dres and Telvanni, had made slaves of the Argonians to the south. Sometimes they would enslave men as well, however this tended to enrage the Imperial authorities so the practice was frowned upon. In any case, with the Tribunal gods slain or vanished, and with so many cities and fortresses destroyed by the Red Year or the Daedra, the province was left open for invasion. The Argonians sacked Mournhold and overthrew the plantations of Dres and made it as far as Port Telvannis before the wizards enchanted the sea to throw them back. While all about us there was a great wailing and lamentation at our misfortunes, your grandfather and I saw an opportunity. At first we offered our services to those fleeing the Argonian advance. While the Telvanni could take flight with their spells, they couldn't move their vast sums of wealth that they'd accumulated over centuries and we offered to do so for them. We grew so wealthy like this we had trouble storing all our takings, and eventually we sealed much of it in a cave." Master Vinothren smiled, "On one occasion we were asked to move a number of large crates. Magnus by this point had grown weary of serving the Telvanni, for he hated their cowardice and arrogance, and he made to check what was inside the crates. It turned out to be the slaves of the Wizard-Lord we were transporting in a magicked sleep, and in his rage Magnus slew the Telvanni and woke the slaves. That is how we met Cassius."

"Really? I didn't know he was that old." Harald said, for that would make the Argonian at least eighty.

Master Vinothren nodded, "Oh yes, Argonians can live for a long time, its only their primitive nature that means they rarely do. Now where was I? Ah yes. Now, due to the fury of the Argonian attack the war, such as it was, was over quite quickly. At the first signs of organised resistance from the Redoran they stopped their advance and maintained a new border along a line north of Mournhold. After a while the fear of them declined and many began to speak of returning to their estates along the coast of the Inner Sea. We even received a few enquiries about transporting certain nobles of Dres back along with their households." The elf's smile only got wider, for he was remembering with delight their years of tricking those rich fools and nobles of the land who'd all been thrown down by the early events of the Fourth Era. "This was problematic because in their absence we'd plundered their homes and made off with their treasuries." Master Vinothren concluded with a grin. "Eventually Magnus had another idea and over the next few years we moved everything we had through Septim's Gate Pass and into Cheydinhal in Cyrodiil. We took advantage of the confused situation of the region on the western side of the Velothi Mountains and slipped through various patrols. If Dumner forces found us I would say Cassius and your grandfather were in my service and I was such and such a lord, if Argonians found us Cassius would speak to them, and once we were in Cyrodiil Magnus would play at tricking me, an unfortunate disinherited lord with an Argonian slave, and pretend he was escorting us over the border."

"Once in Cheydinhal we converted our wealth into land and goods. I began life as a merchant and your grandfather brought several estates in the Valus Mountains, employing many of the Dumner fleeing Morrowind to work there. However, that period was known as the Stormcrown Interregnum, which we have spoken of before. No Emperor sat the Ruby Throne and the land suffered. Magnus, being a pious man, brought a horse and a sword and rode off leaving me to manage his affairs. Each of the competing lords who sought to be Emperor would advertise for men to join them, especially fighting men experience in warfare, but few of them had the resources to do so, meaning they paid their men in plunder and promises. As a Decanus, an inferior sergeant, your grandfather served the Pretender of Nibenay and sacked Bravil, then when he died Magnus took on service with another lord under the promise of promotion and pay, and then another lord once that one fell and so on. Eventually, for defeating the last supporters of Uriel Epiultimator's heirs he was given his pension as a junior centurion and came back to Cheydinhal."

"A few years later though in 4E29 the Aldmeri Dominion was proclaimed and your grandfather went to serve the new Mede dynasty. The story of his service there is rather long and you would be better to hear it from someone who can do the great deeds that were done justice, but it will suffice for me to say Magnus slew an Bosmer prince and distinguished himself in several other ways, the last of which was to swim back across the River Strid holding his legion's standard aloft. To hear his comrades tell it the Aldmeri cast spells and bolts into the river to slay him but in actuality the retreat was unopposed. "

"A period of peace followed and your grandfather and I spent many fine years together. Eventually he went north again to seek out a woman of the Skaal by name of Hervor, who he had met earlier when we were at Raven Rock. They married and she bore him a son, your father Rurik. Magnus spent his days in leisure, hunting in the hills or riding to visit comrades from his legion days, and I was pleased, for we had both prospered and could look upon our works with pride. Soon though your grandfather was called to war again to battle the Infernal City, Umbriel. He enlisted as Evocatus, a rank of great honour, and took part in the attack on the undead minions of that floating citadel, even within sight of the walls of Cheydinhal, and I watched him and three other legions fly by magic up to the city, slaying many Daedra as they went."

"After that it seemed that Cheydinhal lost its appeal to us and he moved to Alcaire and I here to Wayrest. I entered into other areas of business and your father joined the Legion. However, after a sickness your grandmother died, a worthy woman, though I did not know her as well as I would have liked." Master Vinothren paused and he lowered his head. "Now," he began slowly after a time, "you must understand that Magnus was ever a man of duty and honour. Therefore, rather than clinging to life and fading slowly into sickness, he instead followed the ancient custom of his people, and sought a death in battle."

Harald felt his own eyes water and blinked furiously. Master Vinothren did now see, for his own eyes were downcast and his voice heavy.

"I received a letter from him, a letter I was instructed to open when a month had passed since I received it. In the letter Magnus said that he intended to go north. He took with him a spear, but only enough food to last him into the Wrothgarian Mountains. He went without armour, and fully with the intention of finding worthy battle. When I opened the letter I knew that truly he was dead and that I had lost my greatest friend."

Master Vinothren now regarded Harald, "Magnus the Signifier was and remains the most noble and worthy man I have ever known. He was my brother in all things, and I know now he sits in Sovengard with the gods. For this, and all else that he did, honour him."


	18. Chapter 18

AN: Only a few more chapters till we're off to Skyrim.

-x-

After he'd concluded his narrative of Harald's grandfather, Master Vinothren had sent the boy away to eat. The elf said he didn't want Harald thinking about food and that hunger should mean he wasn't able to pay attention.

Harald did as he was told, even though hunger was the furthest thing from his mind, and he went down to the kitchens while he thought about what Master Vinothren had told him. As it turned out though Cassius was down there making pastry, the scales on his forearms dusty with flour. He was using his knuckles to push into the dough as like all Argonians his claws prevented any delicate work.

"Master Vinothren was telling me of my grandfather." Harald told Cassius as he came in . "He said they found you in a box when they were at sea transporting some lord of the Telvanni."

Cassius turned to him, reptilian face fixed in its best approximation of surprise. "This one did not know the Master remembers that. The lord was Dres though."

Harald nodded, that did make more sense. If his grandfather and Master Vinothren were sacking estates on the south coast of the Inner Sea the estates there would be Dres, for they had their many plantations in that area. The Telvanni were active in the east and north of Morrowind. He thought perhaps Master Vinothren had misremembered, it had been a century ago after all, or maybe it had been a Telvanni after all, set adrift away from home by the Red Year or the invasion after.

"Didn't you want to join the war?" he asked Cassius.

"This one did not feel the Call." The lizard replied, "Not before the war in the Bad Times or after."

Harald had read of this. "The Hist?" he asked. Supposedly the tree-gods of Black Marsh had called back all the Argonians, or at least it seemed given present company many of them, before the Oblivion Crisis to fight the Daedra, and then Harald thought probably invade Morrowind after. He had wondered where Cassius had been in that time.

Cassius had nodded at his question, but still faced him.

"Do you remember my grandfather?" he asked.

"This one called him 'Dawnstrider'. Before, the sun had abandoned the skies for the Saxhleel, but he slew the Dres and brought it back. I strangled the tyrant Glathis with his own whip." Replied Cassius with a savage delight clear even through his strong accent. "We swore to follow him; such is the way of the Jel."

After that Cassius turned back to his kneading leaving a surprised Harald looking at him. He'd always thought of the Argonians in Master Vinothren's service as, well, servile, and had often thought it strange for Argonians to be in service to a Dumner master even after the Ascension War had concluded. However, Master Vinothren had told him that Argonians had curious ideas about debt and obligation, and besides, it was unlikely Cassius and the others had any prior obligations before going into service again.

Returning to the task Master Vinothren had set him, Harald quickly found some fruit and cheese in the pantry and ate, eager to get back to the elf so he could finish his story. As the food was a little dry he also drank some water and after went back up to Master Vinothren's study. The elf smiled at his approach and once Harald was seated he continued.

"Since the death of Magnus, your father Rurik lived another forty years." He began, "I do not know much about him for certain, only that he served in the Legion and infrequently visited Wayrest. Truthfully, it was not my business what he did, because unlike Magnus, I didn't know your father so well. I will tell you what I do know though, and what I can guess. To give you some idea of time, we begin around fifty years ago, when with both parents dead and little left to tie him to any place, your father first departed this kingdom. I was again appointed as manager of his estates, a position I will maintain till your majority. In any case, as I've said Rurik served the Legion, but there were no large wars between now and then to speak of, though of course there's fighting on the borders between kingdoms quite frequent. As such I can say little of the specifics of his military career, though I know he spoke on occasion with Lord Pellas, who will no doubt be happy to tell you more. I do know that he was a centurion of the Tenth, like your grandfather."

Master Vinothren smiled, "Men of action like you father often forget power unseen." He said, "For example, while I am not a military man, I am one of business, meaning I can tell you that he gave orders that large sums of money be placed at his disposal in certain cities, some of the southern borders in Skingrad and Orcrest, others of smaller amounts in banking houses in Bankograi and Stros M'kai. While it may be that he simply didn't want to keep money on his person, I think it likely he was active in these areas, in some special capacity and about his duties. That may tell you something, and you might question Ivar as to what sort of Legionary would need such sums. However, Pellas will likely be your best source of personal information regarding your father, for their association was closer."

"How did they meet?" Harald asked.

Master Vinothren frowned, leaning back in his chair. "As I recall one night you father came here to discuss some matters with me. Evidently they were of little consequence as I remember them not at all, but in any case after that a messenger came to the door asking Rurik to dine at the house of Pellas. The Admiral knew me already, and apparently he thought I was entertaining one of his wife's family. You know that your father was known as 'Red Robert' occasionally because of his legion cloak? Well you also know that Lady Elysa's family hold the _jus sanguis_ due to their ancient blood, and are permitted to wear red cloaks such as only the royal family might ordinary don. Thus some servant mistook one red cloak for another and that's how they met."

The elf fell silent and left Harald to think. Eventually the boy looked up, "What was he like?"

"Your father?" asked Master Vinothren, "Now that _is_ something I can tell you." The elf smiled and leant forward, "It occurs to me that your father and grandfather were not alike in disposition. I believe this is in part because your father… reacted, for want of a better word, and learnt from his experiences with Magnus. Where Magnus was romantic and active, Rurik was intense, contemplative, and very deliberate. He once asked me why your grandfather never made more of himself, and was content only to sit at his leisure on his estate, or to hunt in the hills around Cheydinhal or Alcaire. I answered that to your father and I our surroundings were those of contentment, given we had already come so far. Thus, Magnus saw no need to go about bettering himself further, and seldom had any long term plan. Your grandfather turned his hand to whatever he liked at the time, he was a fisherman, a soldier, a builder and a sailor as it pleased him, leaving aside any of them when he grew tired of it. I know he loved the sea and fighting, but he also learnt the ways of the Skald from your grandmother and composed poetry. You father though took up soldiering at a young age and as far as I know never did anything else. He was a solitary man, more focused than your grandfather, but less friendly, and certainly less trusting. It took him almost half a century to father a son so you can see just how mistrustful he was!"

Master Vinothren evidently saw the look on Harald's face and quickly continued, "Do not think that Rurik was in any way less worthy than Magnus." He said, "While your grandfather enjoyed the honours he received, Rurik simply went swiftly about whatever business he was one without talking overlong with anyone. I know some thought him ungrateful, but really it was simply his way. He decided at some point in his early life that the noblest course was in service, in his case to the Empire through the Legion, and he pursued this relentlessly till his death."

"How did he die?"

"On that point I'm not entirely sure." Replied Master Vinothren, "As I say he was a dutiful man, and received honours, one of which being an appointment as a Lictor, which is a sort of bodyguard. Lictors are generally former centurions and it serves as a positon of honour to give old soldiers, it also means their sons are born into a higher rank, which may be why he took the position." Master Vinothren continued looking at Harald, "You're aware of the Void Nights? Well the disappearance of the moons caused great upset across Tamriel, with various Imperial officials being dispatched to the provinces with Legion contingents to restore order after looting and suchlike. In larger cities the church assured everyone that it wouldn't continue for very long, they were wrong but anyway, after two years the moons returned to much rejoicing."

"On my birthday."

"Yes, the festival of Tibedetha, I understand that would make you special if you were a Khajjit but you aren't. Anyway, an Imperial questor, a man who deals with taxes and money, was sent to the city of Riften in Skyrim. The Jarl there, another word for king, had taken the city during the confusion of the Void Nights and while at first his failure to pay taxes had been excused, after a year the questor was sent to remind him."

Master Vinothren steepled his fingers, elbows on the edge of his desk. "Now, while I've made my own investigations into what happened, much remains unclear to me and I've never had chance to make the journey across Tamriel to find out. As far as I can tell from the news I received, a riot broke out once the Questor made his demand to the Jarl there. As was his duty your father tried to protect his charge, but both of them were slain in Riften. I've always considered the Jarl to have incited the riot, but I have no way of knowing."

"Who was the Jarl?" Harald asked, for he felt burning vengeance in his chest.

"Hosgunn Crossed-Daggers." Replied Master Vinothren, "He took the same as a sigil, he was still Jarl three years ago, but I know not whether he remains so to this day. Do not think to set off in the night upon a quest to revenge your father."

Harald shook his head, his chest still tight, but then sighed "I know." He said somewhat resignedly, "It never works in the stories."

"I should think not. I hope I've taught you better to think of such a foolish thing. Only in time, provided you demonstrate skill in arms, would I give my blessing in such an endeavour." Master Vinothren said evenly, "For if indeed the Jarl made to murder your father I think his spirit would desire justice. That however would have to be established first, and you might even gain aid from the Empire, given a questor was murdered along with his guard."

"This brings us almost to the present." Said Master Vinothren, "I received word of your father's letter to me two years after his death and it took another year after that to actually get the letter, and then some time as well to go and bring you here. As you know, his letter told me where you were and how you might be found, as well as saying that I should care for you. However, there was another letter, addressed to you." Master Vinothren leant and opened a drawer, pulling out a sealed parchment and Harald took it with wonder. It was sealed with wax, and Harald saw the shape of a bull's head, which he knew to be the minotaur standard of the Tenth Legion. He broke the seal quickly and unfurled the parchment which blinking furiously at the emotion of it all he began to read.

 _To my son Harald,_

 _When I was a boy a letter like this one came to me from my own father. Know as I did then that thy father rests in Aetherius._

 _There is much I would have said to you had we met, yet nothing I write now will be enough. Know that you are my son and that I love you. I will give you no commands but this, for I wish you to live as your own man. I wish you alone of all people in the world would do better than me in all things._

 _If you are ever in doubt or need, remember the words of Talos, "Be strong for war. Be bold against enemies and evil, and defend the people of Tamriel."_

 _Fear not the sword, for we will meet in Sovngarde. Until then know that I watch over you from my place in Shor's hall, and that I am proud._

 _Your father,_

 _Rurik Magnusson_


	19. Chapter 19

_AN: After somewhat of a long wait for the holidays here's a chapter somewhat smaller than I'd like to put out but nevertheless its progress._

-x-

Harald thought much of Master Vinothren's words about his father and grandfather. After years of uncertainty he finally felt as if he knew where he came from, or at least, who. Yet something was still missing and the boy spent the months following the explanation in contemplation, trying to find out what exactly he was longing for. Months turned to a year or more, and with it came little new for Harald, who continued his training in arms under the Nord Ivar, as well as in some of the points of philosophy Master Vinothren had yet to educate him on.

In the wider world though momentous events were afoot. Due to his wise policies Master Vinothren became richer, signing on new ships and crews as well as opening new warehouses in Wayrest and Koeglin in the north. He took Harald with him across the Bjoulsae to Lainlyn to open a house of business in that city as well, which Corentin then remained in for several months to manage. The elf explained that though there was nothing unique that Lainlyn or the surrounding areas produced that interested him for trade, for the terrain was much the same as Stormhaven's, it was rather the access that Lainlyn granted to the rest of Hammerfell that Master Vinothren desired. Many goods, chiefly precious metals, spices and finely wrought bronze came up the sand-hewn hills that marked the edge of the Alik'r Desert through the Vulnim Gate from Helgate and this was but one more of the ways Master Vinothren attempted to avoid the double-tolls that Daggerfall and Sentinel charged for passage of the straits at Norfasund into the Illiac Bay.

This move was one of many which described the greater ties between Lainlyn and Wayrest in general. This had some in the city talking of war with Sentinel, who was said to oppress the Lainlynmen with the cityfolk saying that soon the king would prepare and army and land it across the Bjoursale, then march down the coast and lay siege to Sentinel, which was popularly imagined to be the cause of all Stormhaven's misfortunes, real or otherwise. Harald knew Cyssander had been very excited at first but when Elaine explained to her brother that it was all nonsense he'd calmed down.

"It's not as if Father will take you even if there was war now would he?" she'd asked the boy.

Harald had laughed, though not unkindly. He'd already had the rumours quashed when he questioned Master Vinothren on them.

"Is it Sentinel we're supposed to be attacking?" the elf had grinned, "It was Daggerfall a few years ago and then the Orcs of Wrothgar and the men of Evermore in the east years before that! Next they'll blame it on the Reachmen or Shornhelm. No my boy, Sentinel has an alliance with Daggerfall and it would be a foolish man to attack both of those kingdoms at once. There'll be no war, just the foolishness, in fact I'd like to know where all these rumours are coming from…"

The later question had occupied Master Vinothren for a while, and he'd yet to find the answer when the King summoned Lord Pellas as well as a number of the other naval officers of the city to the Palace where he'd sent them out to make a long patrol of the Illiac. Another meeting, this one smaller than the last, had been called at the house of Pellas and all the lords had held conference there almost till dawn broke. This time though Lady Elysa had cornered Harald and Elaine before they could sneak to their perch and they'd been put to bed early without learning of what was to happen.

Elaine had gotten nowhere in trying to get her father to tell her about it, for Pellas did not think it proper for the girl to concern herself with it, and so she'd needled Harald incessantly during their archery practice to ask Master Vinothren and have the elf explain it all. Harald knew she didn't care, not really, but he did and so he did as she said.

"You remember last year when I had the villagers from around the swamp petition the King for protection against the Dreugh you uncovered?" the elf had asked.

"Of course." Replied Harald, for two of the leaders of the group had been invited to dine with them one evening, and had stayed in one of the spare rooms during their time in Wayrest.

"And do you remember why I did it?"

Harald thought, but after a while he shook his head.

"Don't worry, I wouldn't expect it of you." The elf had said, "Consider this: Power is not merely the ability to act, but the ability to prevent others from doing so. We had no way to force the marcher lords of Stormhaven to do anything, for they had all they needed from the taxation of their estates. However, by forcing the King to protect his people we made the knights outside the city too busy to interfere while we looked to other matters. However, now they've done the same. The Duke of Gavaudon called for the navy to go out and show the strength of Stormhaven and thus have most of the important lords like Pellas out of the city as they're needed to captain their ships. The Duke lost his estates in Daenia a few years ago so perhaps he legitimately wants Pellas to prepare an attack to get them back, but whether or not he intends to do so this will give him greater influence at court, if only because Pellas and the rest of the city-lords are away."

"Could he take Daenia?" asked Harald, for the region was almost at the other end of the Illiac Bay and very far away for a campaign.

"He could take it, but to what end? There's no way he could hold it against Daggerfall and the best army in the north while Sentinel's navy would come up from the south and cut off any retreat. Such adventures should remain in storybooks."

Elaine was content with the explanation, though she still thought it very splendid to think of all the shining knights and mighty deeds that might have been done in such an attack. The girl's family was ancient, and Daggerfall was the first Mannish settlement in High Rock, so Harald knew the Elegant line hailed from there. He knew there was at least one tapestry showing Old King Lysander, who'd been murdered two centuries ago but was said to still ride forth with his ghostly guard over the skies of Camlorn. Elaine had picked out the spectral blades of Lysander and his knights in gold thread so it made for a more dramatic image.

Despite the excitement though Harald hadn't forgotten his quest and once Pellas returned from his patrol he went to ask the man what he knew of Harald's father.

"Robert was a good man, a strong man." Pellas began, "But he was always so very solemn! He spoke most to your Master, but that isn't saying much, for Robert spoke little and less. I once had a mind that he was a Blade, for they're said to be a queer bunch up at the Wind Keep, but I asked him once and he actually laughed at it so of course he wasn't."

Harald explained how Master Vinothren had described his father's activities and the confusion with which the elf had described his movements.

"That is not so strange. He asked me several times for passage on a ship, for then as I do now I had command over all the officials of the docks. Robert wanted to pass secretly to this port or that one, and I gave him my seal which any of my captains will know. They would tell me whenever he presented it and at what port, or where they were going, but often they said Robert would ask to be let off half-way through the journey, and put ashore in some barren place like Hew's Bane or the Broken Coast as the ship in question was passing by. I cannot think that such an action was merely to shorten his journey, but I always knew he was in Imperial service so he no doubt had some command to be about."

"What was the command?"

"I never asked." Replied Pellas, "Well, I did once certainly, but he said he couldn't tell me and that he didn't want to lie to me, which I thought worthy of him. He was a good man and a good knight, and though I didn't know him well I've no doubt of that. He never abused my trust nor gave me reason to be suspicious of him, which is more than can be said of most Imperials who might ask for a similar service. You should be proud to be his son."

"I am." Harald had agreed, but however proud he was Pellas' answer didn't explain it all. Happily, though there was another in the city who knew better.

"Oh he'll have been one of the Speculatores." Said Ivar immediately when Harald had asked the man.

The word hadn't changed that much in the ages that separated their modern Wayrest and the ancient tongue of Reman Harald already knew, so the meaning was simple for him.

"Are they the Legion's scouts?" he asked.

Ivar nodded, "In a way, way back under the Septims there used to be a distinction between the battlefield scouts, the Exploratores, and the confidential agents, the Speculatores, now though they're the same, like as not. Of course back under the Septims we still had the Shadow Legion and proper Battlemages and _Comitatus Magicka_ and so on. Anyway, if he's in the service and travelling about secretly in the enemy's country but openly in ours he's one of the Speculatores. Because there's no war on the Legion doesn't need scouts for the most part, so most of the auxiliary elements were disbanded. Each fort will have a cohort, and they'll be plenty heavily armed, but they're there to stiffen local forces not to do things themselves. In every province the Legion is supposed to be the best, though that's not true for a lot of places, but locals are often quite slow to act. You're little adventure in the marshes for example, that's the sort of thing the Speculatores deal with all the time. They're thinly spread but very well trained and well-funded. They carry marks from the Imperial governor of a province or anyone relevant and they'll use them to get funds or organise knights in the area to deal with such things."

"Lord Pellas thought he was a Blade." Said Harald after thinking it over. He'd always had a fascination for the Dragonguard, and in all the stories the hero was one of them, secretly going about fighting evil wizards and monsters with a magic sword.

Ivar laughed darkly, "The only way you know a Blade is when you see his Akaviri sword out after your head's already on the floor. They don't go about like Red Robert did, not like they used to."

"What do you mean? Everyone knows they hold Wind Keep up north."

"Aye that may be so, but they were disbanded, officially at least. They're the Dragonguard, they protect the Dragonborn Emperors, and the Medes aren't Septims. I heard a lot of them went to serve Andorak's kin up in Rivenspire, but they're only a cadet branch of the Septim line anyway." said Ivar, "The Penitus Oculatus, the Mede's bodyguards, draw from the Speculatores anyway, so I doubt they'd miss a Blade given the bad blood between the two."

"Because they replaced the Blades as the Imperial bodyguards?"

"That and because they Blades by all accounts, though there's few enough of those, are doing fine despite the Empire not supporting them anymore. You try telling a holy order thousands of years old that's crossed continents and slain dragons that you'd please like the castles you gave them back." Ivar laughed.

Harald joined him, no one knew anything about Wind Keep, and he'd heard it placed in any one of the hidden vales on the Windrush as it flowed down from Wrothgar. No doubt the Blades there were keeping it secret in any case.

"What do they do then, the Speculatores?" he asked after a while's thought.

"Well," began Ivar, "They'd deal with small things like rouge mages, or with larger ones like looking for enemy armies, they'll travel alone and live off the land, hunt and know which plants are good to eat."

Harald nodded, "I'd like to learn these things."

"Well if you wanted to deal with a mage my advice is to kick him hard between the legs and run for it while he's down." Replied Ivar simply, "But woodcraft I can teach you. Have you decided you want to join the Legion then? You're decent with the sword but I can think about starting you on the proper exercises as you get bigger."

Ivar had given Harald new sets of training gear as he'd grown, so now he used the same wooden training swords as all Legionaries used, so the Nord said, and he'd even started riding lessons now he was big enough to control a horse, for Ivar said there was no use in riding ponies like some did to learn.

"No, well…" Harald said hesitantly, he'd been avoiding the question of what he wanted to be when he was older, "I don't know yet."

Ivar clasped him on the shoulder, "It's alright, the Legion won't take you for years yet so you needn't rush into anything. But you can't learn woodcraft in a city. I'll ask the elf and see about setting up a little expedition."


	20. Chapter 20

_AN: This chapter represents somewhat of a shift. While we grow ever closer to the more significant events of this fic that deal with the actual plot, it also demonstrates a change in the storytelling. Most noteably, while many previous chapters had been heavy on worldbuilding, this one is much more focused on the development of our protagonist. More importantly, while I'm aware I'm pretty good at worldbuilding, I would like to integrate more of the mysticism of the Elder Scrolls series into this work, which this chapter represents one of the first examples of. I've found that while the TES lore community largely fails to worldbuild sensibly to explain events of politics and history, the TES fandom does the opposite, often doing well with the history but utterly neglecting the more ephemeral elements to the lore._

 _As ever I'm interested in feedback on how this attempt has worked out, as well as your general reactions to the fic, so please let me know if there's any comment you'd like to make. Remember that this also helps the fic in general, because it will generate discussion and increase readership._

-x-

Master Vinothren had agreed heartily to Harald's request and the boy had spent the next month substituting some of his lessons for going out with Ivar through the gates and up into the hills of Cumberland to the north. Where Harald had shot targets before with bow or sling, now Ivar had him take rabbits as they ran and on one occasion a deer. They didn't eat either, for that would have been poaching, and Ivar was mindful in case they should encounter some Earl riding about who might arrest them. Apparently this was a very fine line, but Ivar was confident in carrying meat from Wayrest's markets instead which would, he explained, demonstrate their good faith. Instead Ivar showed Harald the different ways to skin the creatures and separate out the parts which were good and bad, as well as how to tell whether the animal might be diseased or otherwise dangerous to eat. It was grisly work, but Harald already had some experience in it from working at Mag's shop, though he'd not been back there in months due to his many lessons. Each animal they left to lie once they harvested it with Ivar planting a forked stick in the earth each time and setting a piece of meat on it for Kyne.

"We need no commandments to remember the gods." Said Ivar, "But this isn't to say the Imperials were ever wrong about them. We call her by different names but truly she is the same whatever you call her, Kyne or Kynareth. Always honour her, for she is the wind and rain, and all the growing things. 'Respect her power, fear her fury'."

Harald knew this well, for the Viridian Sentinel, his first hero, had given sacrifice equally to Stendarr and Kynareth both in his quest to save the people. Further, because of the religious situation in Wayrest the principal gods were Stendarr firstly, supported by Kynareth and Zenithar. Stendarr ruled the seas but Kynareth controlled them and Zenithar built the ships to sail them. According to Master Vinothren the great cathedral that dominated the city's skyline had once been dedicated to the Order of the Hour and Lord Akatosh but that had been several hundred years ago to hear the elf speak of it.

Soon the summer gave way to a mild autumn excepting a cold snap halfway through Last Seed had the whole of Stormhaven covered in snow. In general though the weather was very good, though they didn't go out when it rained for the Cumberland roads were of poor quality and turned to mud at the slightest provocation, yet for the most part their good fortune held fast. When it was colder and a frost came the ground turned hard and the fallen leaves cracked under their boots, yet this only improved their walks for there was no longer any danger of slipping in mud, which Harald of course welcomed.

The forests themselves were light and airy, and the sun could always be seen through the canopy, even more so when the trees started to shed their leaves. It was very beautiful and though their expeditions were often protracted Harald passed the time imagining the Viridian Sentinel to be watching them. He had hoped to use the same phrases the Sentinel had, and to calm any creature them came across by merely announcing his name but Ivar had told him not to be a fool. Still though, the boy considered himself as walking in that ancient hero's footsteps, through hidden vales and over gnarled roots as they walked further north through the hills. In walking those ancient pathways Harald felt not only the contentment his friendship with Elaine and tutelage under Master Vinothren held, but more so a sense of wonderful peace, simply going about as they willed and each night Ivar telling him a tale of the north, of Skyrim.

The month of Sun's Dusk brought winter on fully and the pair enjoyed the Moon's Festival along with the hospitality of a small village when Ivar told stories half the night and Harald climbed trees with a few of the other children to hang great circles of woven reeds whitewashed to look like Secunda, one of the twin moons of Tamriel which were honoured on that day. Ivar told them strange stories he'd heard from Khajiit traders in the south of spirits and demons that abounded in those lands and all the people were amazed, though the man later admitted to Harald that he'd never actually been to Elsweyr and had made most of them up.

While they'd walked under sun and moon Ivar taught Harald to read the weather and tell whether rain or cloud might come, which when Harald told Elaine of it had the girl lamenting how unfair it was that she couldn't learn this magic. Harald had laughed, but it had at least let him see the Thief bright in the sky as it got into Evening Star, which the Argonians of Master Vinothren's house called 'Xulomaht' in their strange tongue. They spent most of that month indoors, and Master Vinothren sent Harald to live in the house of Pellas for a few weeks while he retreated to his new offices in Lainlyn. The elf had claimed it was due to his affairs in that city needing his attention but Harald thought it might just be because the weather was cold. Either way, the house of Pellas had been built on old foundations and still had a working hypocaust that passed hot air under the floors, though three times this system failed in the month leading them all to bundle themselves in furs around a brazier, Pellas and his lady wife taking turns to tell stories, Lady Elysa's being particularly poignant, while the Admiral's were really more reports of the different places he'd been. Some family of Pellas had also joined them, come down from their lands outside the city, the lord's brother Harwyn and his sons Rolland and Caron. They were younger than Pellas' eldest Morric, but several years older than Harald and brought their own stories of their lands in the shadow of the Wrothgarian mountains.

One day, quite abruptly, Ivar called at the house to speak with Harald.

"In four days it is the North Winds Prayer, and I go up to the Weeping Giant for it each year if I can, will you come with me?"

Harald accepted of course, but he asked whether some of the others might come with them.

"No." Ivar had replied, "It is not for them. In the city they keep it only as a small thing, and have forgotten their past, even those of the blood such as Pellas."

And so they set off the next day taking the coast road that ran along the north edge of the swamps around Aphren's Hold. East they went, into Gavaudon with the mountains at their left shoulders till a day and a half later the sparse trees on the edge of the wetlands opened out and Harald saw the forested slopes of Bangkorai in the distance.

"How far is it?" he asked as they walked. He wasn't tired, not yet, for even before he'd been accustomed to walking with Ivar he'd never been a sedentary sort, yet he wondered if they were to cross into that region that was said to be the home of all sorts of dangerous creatures and demons. Probably not, but it would be better than being eaten alive by seemingly all the midges the marshes had to offer.

"Not so far now." Ivar said, and indeed soon they left the last straggling pools and reed-beds of the marshes behind them, the hills of Bangkorai not distant anymore and instead the ground rising steadily to meet them. "Look there." Ivar had pointed off west to a strange hill, standing taller than the others and with an odd flat top, "There's Pilot's Stand, we're close now, you can see the giant from the top of that hill."

"Is it a real giant?" Harald asked, imagining some ancient creature that had fallen asleep, trees growing on his shoulders and his hair turning to grass in the ages it had slept.

"Of a sort, you'll see soon though and I shan't spoil it."

All that day they walked, and the birds around them chirped as they crossed a small stream that no doubt went back the way they'd come to lose itself somewhere in the swamp. Just as dusk was falling though Harald caught a glimpse of what he could only think was a castle, for he saw ramparts and crenulations over the trees, seemingly slipped to rest at an angle.

"Is that-"

"Aye, there he is."

They walked further, Harald somewhat behind Ivar, following the man down into a narrow ravine. In one place they had to climb and Ivar lowered his pack on a rope before turning and taking hold of stones and roots to make his descent. Harald followed no less ably but as they squeezed through another gap he saw the giant.

It was a statue, one of enormous size and magnificence, and the ramparts Harald had seen earlier were the broken parts of his crown. The dusklight framed him, up to his armpits in the earth and leaning to one side as if resting on an invisible pillow. If he had woken and stepped up he would have been able to look clear over the spire of Stendarr's cathedral in Wayrest. His beard was certainly longer than many ships were tall, masts included, while his nose alone Harald though would have difficulty passing through even the largest of the city's gates. Ancient was his face, and lordly countenance, for he was surely a king.

"Behold Atmora the Great." spoke Ivar reverently. "Last of the Storm-blooded, first of the Conquerers."

"Ysgramor made this?" asked Harald, "When he made the Return out of the north?"

"No, even before him. Here is the likeness of the greatest of the kings of men before the Nords departed Tamriel in the ancient days. Nameless, yet mighty."

They walked forward and Harald saw why it was called the Weeping Giant, for a large pool had collected from the water which must have run off the statue when it rained. Around the pool stood smaller statues. In comparison to the Giant they were small at least, though with their plinths included each was twenty feet tall or more.

"Who are they?"

"The Wardens." Replied Ivar, "Far, far newer, Emeric the Good set them there in thanks for his loyal knights who defended his kingdom while he campaigned away in Cyrodiil during the Banners War."

"Emeric was lord of Cumerland before he was High King." Said Harald, for he'd often read of the man.

"Aye, and the Wardens were his people."

"And we remember him still." Said a voice from behind them and Harald started. He turned and found a man there, gaunt and shoeless, wearing brown robes and with a shaven head, though a long beard."

"Warden." Ivar said to him with a nod.

"You've come to greet the North Wind?" asked the man.

"We have."

The stranger nodded and walked away without saying anything more.

"Was he a knight?" asked Harald after he judged the stranger to be far enough away not to hear them.

"No." said Ivar, "Just a hermit who tends the grounds here. He's not part of any order like a monk, just one of a few who take care of this place and make the rites when necessary."

Harald nodded and they went forward again, Ivar leading the boy under the statue and then kneeling to set out his things. Harald copied him and soon they had their bedding out, their cloaks as pillows and Ivar making a fire between the two bedrolls.

"When I was up in Rivenspire I knew men who'd be up and down here as soon as look at it." Ivar said, nodding to the sheer walls of the ravine. "There was some old evil up in the cliffs near Great Bay but they'd never tell me what it was. Not as if I wanted to go check mind," he said, "But it's good to know so you don't bump into a necromancer when you're on your way to market." He said with a laugh. "Long ago whatever it was broke the land and all around there there's great fissures far too large to leap, yet with stone too unsteady to make a bridge."

"How do they do it?" Harald asked. "The climbing I mean."

"They have sort of claws, made of bone usually, I don't know why they didn't use metal I always thought it would have been stronger but every man around there carries such claws for their hands and feet, and they work rope into their clothes so each one can get around there. They'll almost walk up the sides of the cliffs, and jump between them as easily as a crow will hop between the branches of a tree."

Ivar spoke only a little after that, turning his attention to the fire and minding it till a good orange glow was between them. The Nord had a magic ring that would make a flame but he never used it except in emergencies, but he'd told Harald it was one of the only pieces of magic he trusted to have on him and warned the boy against mages and elves in general… and also women but that was a separate piece of advice.

"Now," Ivar began once they were settled. "Tonight will be the North Wind Prayer, just like the Warden said. Even though most of those in this kingdom have forgotten it, in the North they still keep it as it should be, as an ancient day that goes back to the days of the Tongues when Hoag Merkiller first came through these lands. You know why the elf hasn't ever taken you to the temple?"

Harald nodded, Master Vinothren had explained it a while ago when Harald had asked him once. While unlike most of his people Master Vinothren kept the Nine and attended liturgies regularly at a temple near them, he had refused to take Harald along as well. Master Vinothren explained that firstly the boy was too young, and that Master Vinothren opposed the early induction of children into the faith, but secondly that unlike the Bretons which made up most of the parishioners of that area of Wayrest, Harald was a Nord, and should worship, if he willed it, in the manner of his longfathers. Of course the moment Master Vinothren had mentioned the later Harald had agreed entirely, and once he'd explained it to Lord Pellas when the Admiral had asked him why he'd not joined them for prayer one day. Pellas had looked rather confused by Harald's response but after a quiet talk with Master Vinothren about the issue he'd accepted it, yet still made sure to invite Harald to join them whenever they did go to perform the rites.

Ivar nodded, "Alright then. In the Legion we never kept such services as they do in the cities here. For most, especially us Nords but even the Colovians as well, Talos is our god. Like Kyne, we know him by many names, and our enemies fear him by even more, but just like Kyne he's the same whatever you call him. Ultimately all the gods have a single action or way of living and all the ritual that the South has is meaningless. The gods don't live in temples or under domes, they abide in everything at once, but in your heart as well. What did your father tell you?"

As the only command his father had left him Harald knew it without thinking, scored onto his tongue by many repetitions, for he'd often spoken it to himself, sitting looking out at the moon late at night with the wind whistling about his head as it blew in from the sea. "Be strong for war. Be bold against enemies and evil. Defend the people of Tamriel."

"Good lad." Ivar smiled, and then he looked down, into the fire. He stayed looking there for a few moments, then turned his eyes back on Harald, "Over the last few months I've taught you to live as a Nord should. The elf has taught you much, and all learning is of worth, but you mustn't forget your roots. I've taught you our own rites, not singing, not giving the gods money, for they've little need of it have they? Rather, out walking here has been how a man should be, strong and forthright, yet in turn pious. But while you may realise for yourself why you should or should do something, as you're a quick lad, I've yet to explain the reasons why you should do any of this in the first place, other than because I'm telling you to. That's why we're here now, on this day. Listen then, and I'll tell you of how the world was made, and where you stand in it."

And taking a sip from his waterskin Ivar spoke. He spoke long into the night, the flames growing lower till all Harald could see was the outline of the other man, huddled in his cloak as he spoke of gods and demons. Above them the boy saw the Atmoran, a black shape against a blacker sky.

And as he listened he dreamt.

" _In the beginning there was a roiling nothingness and that nothing was Shor, oldest and fatherless. He sat upon a throne in Time's morning where neither sand nor sea was there, not tree or mountain. He looked out and saw all things, and from his breath he made a palace for himself, the greatest and most magnificent palace there ever was. But a king is nothing without a kingdom, and others too stepped from the mist-breath. They were bright things and the greatest of them was Akatosh and he was the brother of Shor._

 _But while Shor was content, his children were not, and Akatosh came to Shor saying they wandered without purpose and a great sadness was upon them, and they called it the Grey Maybe, for nothing was certain there. Therefore, when Shor heard his brother's pleas he brought change and by his blow he shattered uncertainly, tearing out his own heart saying to Akatosh, 'Make Certain', and then died._

 _All the Mistborn wept, and saddest of all was Shor's widow Kyne, who's tears made a sea around Shor's body. And seeing this Akatosh stepped forth and broke Shor's bones into mountains and his tore his flesh to make the land and he set four of his brothers at the corners of Nirn to hold up the sky. From the land and sea sprang life of all kinds and some of the spirits descended from Shor's palace to live on the land while others took the forms of beasts or trees. Because of the difference Shor brought there was war between these spirits as they took up life on Mundus, as such Akatosh once again stepped forward, for he is the All-Orderer, and he said 'Look upon this creation and live well'._

 _But some among the spirits who had descended felt they had been tricked, saying 'Let us scorn this world and instead seek once again our lives above'. Thus, these spirits, because they refused to live, could never die. They became the Elves and made pacts with demons to seek a return to what they once were, their lives without meaning._

 _Kyne though saw the shame of the Elves and hated them, for they ignored the sacrifice of her husband. By the power which Shor had left within her before he died she breathed forth and from her breath came Men, whom she commanded to take the land in Shor's name. Our people are the Nords, and then we were a young race, but now we are the oldest of the tribes of Men and it falls to us to remember these things, ever wandering in search of our Father and driven by his breath._

 _Though Ysgramor led our people across the sea after the downfall of Atmora we did not hail from there. Remember that Shor gave us this land. It is our destiny, but it is our destiny too to struggle for it. From these truths we can know our actions. First, that there are many jealous of our lives and who seek to steal them away or to destroy all that we have. These demons have tried in ages past and will do again, and it will fall to you to stop them if they come, just as it did to you father and his father before him. The servants of demons, driven by greed or madness will aid them and evil men, beasts or elves will use subtler means toward the same ends. However, from this we draw the second truth: That despite all the hardship Men face, Shor has never abandoned us. He comes among us secretly, prowling as a lion and many evils have been thrown down before we even knew of them. By his example Akatosh has sent dragon-blooded heroes to us, Alessia, Reman and Lord Talos, each one who made the land anew. By Shor's will your future is assured. Unlike grasping Elves who vainly seek their former glories, all we need to is live worthy lives and in a short time we shall be reunited with our forefathers. Live therefore by blood, be strong for war, bold against enemies and evil, and defend the people of Tamriel."_


	21. Chapter 21

_AN: Bit short but I haven't written anything in like two months so I want to get back into it. They'll be another chapter tomorrow.  
_

-x-

In the months that followed Harald began to recognise a strange feeling.

He found himself walking by the docks, staring out across the Bjoulsae or north to the summits of the Dragontails peering over the horizon. He was looking for something but what that was exactly he hadn't a clue. Even in his dreams he felt as if he were searching, lost in a mist but floating toward something hidden behind the mist, yet separate from it.

Elaine noticed his melancholy first but when she asked him what was wrong he couldn't give a proper answer, only that he felt a need for something. In his waking moments and during his continuing martial training or instruction at Master Vinothren's hand the boy was perfectly content. He had the sword, and that was enough, let alone the run of his Master's library, yet it was in the quiet moments when he couldn't lose himself in tales of old that the feeling crept up on him again.

Eventually though, now a year or more after Master Vinothren had narrated his forebears' lives, the elf called on him again to see whether Harald had thought any more about what he might want to do.

"You always told me stories of far off places." Harald said, "Always tales of snow demons of Akavir or sea serpents in Pyadonea." He paused for a moment, looking to the map of Tamriel Master Vinothren kept on one wall. "I want to see it all. But most of all I want to see the land of my fathers. Great mountains and high pastures, sheer cliffs and ancient stones. I want to see Skyrim."

The elf steepled his fingers, regarding him carefully. Then Master Vinothren looked over to the map and sighed. "Then you shall."

Harald didn't know what to say, he hadn't expected that. "You don't seem…"

"Surprised?"

"Opposed."

Master Vinothren smiled and stood up, coming to Harald's side. He knelt and clasped the boy by the shoulder. "Magnus fought his way across Tamriel. That his grandson would want to travel was known to me even the first day I saw you. The wanderlust is in your blood, to ask you to deny it would be to deny yourself." The elf's smile grew wider but there was sadness in his eyes, "The only thing there is to do is to prepare you." And he stood, going to the map and taking it down to lay across his desk.

A tension left Harald that he hadn't known was there. He'd feared Master Vinothren would try to persuade him to stay and that with the ease and pleasure of Wayrest life he'd succeed. It was heartening that the elf supported him, and he realised how much he'd miss the man who'd been like a father to him.

"Like Magnus however I don't imagine you know what you intend to do there." Continued Master Vinothren with a wry smile. "Have you given it any thought?"

Harald flushed and shook his head.

"Well Lennart is still in Solitude managing that end of the trade for me." Said Master Vinothren, naming one of the few sea captains in the elf's employ Harald had spoken to. "I'd have you there so he can keep an eye on you but life in Solitude wouldn't be much different from Wayrest. It's a city half full of Nedes anyway." He tapped his finger on the province. "And besides that, there's storms this time of year so I won't send you by ship. Nor overland to Markarth as the Reachmen are in arms. The Rift? I think not, and you must swear to me you won't go poking about in Riften or take any other foolish action." Master Vinothren said without looking up. "Leave vengeance till later, your father will understand…"

"I hadn't even thought of it." It was true, and indeed Harald supposed had he realised once in Skyrim he might have gone off to do just what Master Vinothren was concerned about.

"Yes well." Remarked the elf. "I've just realised this must be an old map, it's got Snowhawk on it and that city was destroyed during the Demonmarch. Dawnstar and Falkreath didn't do much better so I see no reason to send you there."

"What about Windhelm?" asked Harald, looking over the map. He had read many stories of the City of Kings.

"No." said Master Vinothren, "You'll be a stranger there and a stranger with elvish inflections to his speech at that. No I don't think so. And Winterhold is full of Azurites so not there either. That leaves only one hold but Whiterun seems perfectly suited. It's a trading city so you won't stand out as much there, and I'll be able to maintain correspondence with you from Solitude." He regarded the boy, "I expect at least one letter a week from you."

"Of course!" Harald protested. He would have written them anyway considering how strange it would be to stop speaking with perhaps the only person he'd seen every day for the last six years.

He thought on Whiterun, apparently they had a dragon there, Numinex, whom Olaf slew. That would be a fine thing to see!

"I'll go to Jorrvaskr." He said suddenly.

"Are they recruiting children then?" asked the elf with a smirk.

Harald looked at him, "A girl killed the Snow Prince at the Moesring and she was only two years older than me."

"That may be so but those were rather different circumstances."

Harald shook his head. Jeek of the River had turned his longship upside down after Skyrim had been retaken by the elves and since then Ysgramor's companions had occupied that storied mead hall. "If I'm to see Skyrim there can be no place better." He argued.

Master Vinothren frowned. "I suppose you're right." He said eventually. "It's a good think Ivar's taught you the sword then."

The old campaigner had finally moved Harald onto a fully sized sword. It was only a Legionary's weapon, and still quite large and heavy in his hand, but he'd said the boy was actually big enough now to hold it. Still though, there was no prospect of Harald matching a man in battle as however big he was he was still a child.

"How will I get there?" Harald eventually asked, "If you won't send me by sea or land?"

"I will, just not by those routes." Master Vinothren replied, "Corentin is going down to Anvil next month, you'll go with as far as the River Brena and then take a caravan north from Niryastare Gandranene-"

"Where's that?"

"It means 'River-Gift of Niryastare, it was the port of an old Aleyid city, around here." Master Vinothren tapped a finger on the border between Hammerfell and Cyrodii and continued, "You can pass along the edge of the Great Forest and though County Chorrol to approach Skyrim from the south. The roads are good there and the Legion still patrol them unlike in the Reach if I were to send you that way."

The elf sat back, "We'll talk more on this later, but you'd better get along to the house of Pellas."

"Why?" Harald asked, though he would probably end up telling Pellas and the other he couldn't think of any particular- "Oh."

"And now you see why your father never married."

Master Vinothren was right, Elaine would be furious.


	22. Chapter 22

_AN: Really this and the last chapter should have been a single one but I find that forums reward update rate rather than cohesive chapters. Also this is supposed to be y'know, 'emotive' and stuff, so let me know if it worked. Only you can prevent forest fires/improve the story!_

-x-

Elaine frowned and pursed her lips. "I don't believe you."

Harald smiled a little. "I don't believe it myself really."

He'd gone quickly to Pellas' house and then up to see Elaine who was in the music room. Sunlight flooded through the window and her hair sat like a golden cloak around over her shoulders. Her green eyes troubled and suspicious when they should be warm.

"I'm a Nord." Harald said pathetically, "I must go."

"Your grandfather wasn't even from Skyrim." She replied, her hands clenched on the harp in her lap.

"That doesn't matter, its more than that, it's in the heart. Just like your family is different from the Bretons because you came down with Andorak's army-"

"Oh Harald please don't start!" Elaine cut him off, "Enough of histories and battles! Why are you leaving? Away from here? Your home? What's wrong?" she stood up, harp forgotten to clatter on the floor and came forward. "What's wrong?" she asked again, taking his hands in hers.

Harald hung his head, drew breath to speak and then shut his mouth. He couldn't bear those sorrowful eyes. "There's a tapestry upstairs." He began after a while. "There's a figure stepping from a golden ship and holding a sword. No-one opposes him, no armies or fortresses, no monster, just him and a few warriors behind him turning to a new shore. I don't remember who its meant to be, I just remember what I felt when I saw it." He pulled away from her, going to the window. They were tall enough to see out of it now either pulling up a box, he could see the scuff marks from where they had and he smiled, remembering the night they met.

He felt her behind him, a warm presence close by.

"For a long time, as long as I can remember, I've been a stranger." He continued. "I remember nothing of before Master Vinothren took me, no family, no kin, for I've no mother and only a dead father. All I have are stories. You said no histories but all I have is histories. I'm that man in the tapestry, a stranger come to a foreign land."

She came to embrace him, her arms around his chest and her head resting against his shoulder, he turned into her, soft curls tickling his cheek.

"How can I do anything, be anyone, without knowing who I am first?"

Elaine didn't say anything, just stood there holding him. But eventually she sighed, "I didn't know."

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you."

"You should be!"

"I'll be back."

"You'd better."

He looked at her, her eyes had regained their mischief and her mouth had a wry turn to it.

"I'm going north to find my past, I'll return to Wayrest to find my future."

He had turned to say it, but without his thinking it he felt her lips on his. A touch as light as the breeze before they stood again beneath the sun. He might have imagined it or thought it a dream only but he stood the next day before his own window, looking out toward the centre of the city where he knew Elaine would be standing as he was, under the same sun.

Later Harald had gone to Master Vinothren in his study, for he had more farewells to make.

"Can I have the key to the storeroom?"

"Of course." Master Vinothren said simply, "You know where it is."

And Harald went to the secret compartment in the wall and pressed a knot in the wood, popping out the draw with a large key. He took it and went downstairs to the door and after wrestling with the lock, which was both heavy and complex he stepped into the room, gloomy as a crypt, dozens of large boxes and stores lining the walls, leading, almost directing Harald to the cabinet at the end. He set a lit taper on another crate and went forward, remembering the day he'd first been here, years ago, perhaps on the first day he'd come to the city.

The latch on the cabinet was lighter and came apart at a touch, but he didn't open it yet, standing before the doors a little while in thought. Then, without looking within he opened it and stepped back, kneeling, eyes closed before it.

"Father." He breathed. The sword and hauberk were before him, bright, too bright to be reflecting only the light of the candle. "Father." He said again, "I go to Skyrim. Watch over me."

There were footsteps behind him and Master Vinothren's hand was on his shoulder. "Your father is with you, do not forget that."

And then he was on the docks, wind tugging at his hair, salt strong on the breeze.

They had prepared in the month that had passed, and Harald had received all things that he might need, travelling clothes from Ivar, a moneybelt from Master Vinothren, and a little charm of bone from Cassius and the other Argonians that they said would ward off evil. He had with him his bow and a dozen shafts, as well as his sling coiled around his wrist. Arrik had given him a few good fishhooks and a roll of line while House Elegant were standing close by to see him off.

He went to Pellas first and gave a short bow to the Admiral.

"Aye lad we'll miss you." Said Pellas, holding out a cloth package. "Take this with my blessings."

Harald took it and it was heavy. He pulled at the strings and withdrew a circular brass object. There were two catches on either side and Harald opened one to see a compass face. It was beautiful, the workings and degrees laid out clearly yet in minute detail. Underneath the needle Harald saw the rose of House Elegant.

"Iron shall be your guide." Pronounced Pellas, "Trust it."

Harald gave his thanks and went to Lady Elysa who gave him a small harp and a little book. "Remember to keep up your practice."

Morric and Cynric jointly gave him a good knife and a fine leather scabbard with a whetstone.

Last was Elaine.

"I want you to take this." She said, and she reached behind her neck and unclasped a chain, bringing it around between them. It was silver on silver, made in the fashion of a rayed star of eight points.

He knew it well, for Elaine wore it along with her red cloak only on special occasions.

"But Elaine this has been in your family for generations. I can't!" Harald said. The necklace was so old it had been made when there had only been eight Divines.

"Please, to remember me, to remember Wayrest." She took his hand and closed it around the pendant.

Harald turned to Lady Elysa and she smiled and nodded and his heart fluttered as he turned back to Elaine.

They embraced and her arms around him were as tight as his were around her.

"Don't forget me." She whispered.

"How could I forget the Jewel of the Bay?"

When they broke apart her smile was a little less sad and she blinked away the tears.

"The wind is up." Announced Master Vinothren, looking out to sea.

Harald turned. His master was right and the sails of the brig were fluttering as if eager for the voyage.

Corentin was standing by the dock and Harald went to him. He did not look back until he was on the ship.

They pulled away, oars chastising the surf. He saw Elaine on the docks, standing out among all the others like the beacon of a lighthouse.

"I go to my far horizons."


	23. Chapter 23

AN: I've always tagged this as 'TES' rather than 'Skyrim' because much of the action will occur outside Skryim. This is one chapter of that sort, though soon we will be firmly within the borders of the Old Kingdom. Somewhat of a delay in writing this one but let me know what you think.

-x-

The wagon's axel squeaked as it turned to accommodate the little bumps in the road.

It had been like that since the cart had struck a pothole a week ago and Umar the old Redguard driver claimed it was warped from the impact. The others had argued against this, mainly in the hope that they wouldn't have to find a new axel but it seemed they'd need to after all.

"We should grease it tonight." Said Hollen, a guard walking beside Harald, "At least then the noise will stop!"

Umar gave a dismissive wave down at them as he flicked his whip in their general direction. "That'll just mean it'll stink all day when the sun cooks it! Then the wood'll expand and the next thing you know the wheel's gone rolling merrily down the nearest hill."

As if in agreement the axel gave a particularly loud squeak.

"I'll not have this all the way to Bruma." Growled Hollen under his breath.

Harald looked up at him, "Why don't you just swap with one of the others?"

Hollen scowled, "Because this is the safest place to be." He replied, "Anyone can see we've only got this timber," it was white elder from the Gold Coast, very valuable but also very heavy, "so if the knife-ears attack they'll not trouble us."

Hollen was inordinately afraid of elves, particularly Bosmeri archers, or 'knife-ears' as they were superstitiously called in Colovia. The guard had apparently sold his sword in the south as well on the border regions adjoining Valenwood and had suffered some misfortune there.

"Nah, you'll see, they'll take the van first, and then half of them will pin us in at the back, then they'll meet in the middle but me and you can be off into the woods before they finish everyone off. That's the truth of it my lad you'll see!"

Harald didn't think they were likely to be attacked by any wandering gangs of elves, not this far into Cyrodiil. There was at least two Legions stationed in the border forts in the south and he knew there was another protecting a line from the Gold Road going south along the Great Forest to Lake Rumare. Nevertheless, Hollen was a good walking companion being full of stories of where he'd served and the customs of peoples there. Of course said stories were viciously anti-Mer in character and Harald didn't doubt the man would have gladly joined Morihaus or Pelinal's crusades of old to slaughter the elves. As such Harald listened to the stories with some scepticism, for example while he'd heard that the Bosmer were cannibals Master Vinothren claimed this was only for ritualistic purposes and certain ceremonies rather than the wild orgies of blood Hollen vividly described.

The road went on and on. It had taken a month to get to Cyrodiil from Wayrest and another to come up the road to Chorrol, the later journey having them walk three hundred miles, Harald occasionally climbed abroad one of the wagons when he was tired but otherwise was happy to walk with the others. It would be another two weeks before they rolled up to Bruma in the shadow of the mountains but the boy didn't feel homesick at all. On the contrary, he was excited to see Skyrim and all it held for him, to see Whiterun Hold, the bones of Numinex and the ancient Skyforge.

Unfortunately though there wasn't a great deal to see while walking. While at first there had been plenty of interesting Ayleid ruins to examine each night when they sought shelter in various villages along the way the forest swiftly closed in around them. This was the Great Forest of legend where all manner of strange beasts were said to walk, much different from the Imperial Reserve they'd travelled through at the start of their journey. That had been a wide country of managed woodland and forest villages that marked the southern boundaries of Colovia, but here the trees grew at their own pleasure, and though the outskirts bordering the Orange Road between Chorrol and Bruma were well patrolled by Imperial Foresters and the folk of the highlands, if one walked for a day off the path they might swiftly find themselves lost forever under dark boughs.

Colovia was unusual to Harald because it was the first time he'd been among his own kind. The Colovians were not Nords, not quite, but they were the most martial of the Cyrods and the nearest in descent from their ancient kin. It was from these worthy folk, broad shouldered and dun-skinned that Titus Mede recruited his armies and Harald knew they formed many more of the Legion than other peoples. They were however rather suspicious and unfriendly to the caravan as they travelled, happy to trade but never coming to sit by their fires and always refusing to have any of the caravaners enter their towns, having them set up stalls outside the gates instead.

It had not been so in Chorrol where Emeric, the leader of the caravan, had taken Harald with him to negotiate with the merchants of the city's market. Emeric was a Breton associated with Master Vinothren, not of the House of Vinothren as such, but merely one of the many others the elf traded frequently with. Knowing Harald spoke both Bretic and Aldmeris well, in addition to his command of the trade tongues of the Illiac, the man took Harald along to translate for him. They'd traded silver from Hammerfell for cloth from the Chorrol weavers, and made various other exchanges as Chorrol served as a lynchpin of Cyrodiil's trade connecting the northern and southern regions of the province making the market there especially busy. However, they'd been there only a short while to make the trades before Emeric went back out to the caravan to see to the transport of the new goods and as such Harald had had little time to examine the city as closely as he might have liked. One day he would return and see it all.

"Will we see the City?" he asked Hollen as they settled down for the night, a rabbit stew bubbling in a pot.

The Imperial City, the greatest in the world, had thus far eluded Harald to his great disappointment. It was the most ancient and famous place he'd heard of and Master Vinothren said more than a million people lived there. It had weathered every disaster known to Tamriel, from the Soulburst to the Oblivion Crisis. He had asked before about it but the others had laughed at him, saying that no one called it 'The Imperial City', but that it had many names to many peoples because of its great history. _Hvitgard_ to the Nords, simply ' _Capitol'_ to the Nibenese, ' _CiCi'_ to the inhabitants themselves and numerous names in the Elven tongues like ' _Aedramalada'_ meaning ' _Ancestor's High Fane'_. To many though it was simply ' _The City'_ and anyone in Cyrodiil knew what that meant.

"If you were ten times as tall maybe." Said one of the other guards.

"We're moving through a long valley at the moment, and will be for the next week." Explained Hollen, "You'd have to climb up one of the sides to be able to get a view over. Wait till you've gone up into the north a while and then look back. I heard you can see the White-Gold Tower from Bruma on a clear day."

Harald sighed and ate his stew, nibbling at some of the crumbly Colovian cheeses they'd taken from a town a few days ago.

That night found him lying under a wide linden beside the road, eyes wide and staring at the stars.

While he hadn't been feeling homesick particularly, and had been growing more excited as he travelled further north, he had realised a certain melancholy. It came on at night because he couldn't do anything active. In the daytime if he had liberty he'd sling against trees or talk to the other caravaners but he'd been told not to leave the camp at night for fear of wolves or worst in the forest and he did as he was told.

Perhaps it was homesickness. He hadn't seen Elaine or Master Vinothren in two months or spoken to anyone he'd known in Wayrest for almost as long apart from Corentin when the Breton had seen him off the ship that had carried them both south. Was it just that? A sadness at experiencing so many new things but without the others? Where Master Vinothren had taught him histories and Elaine had shared stories now he had only his own thoughts and the vulgarity of Hollen's polemics.

The moons turned and the stars went on their way. Eventually Harald turned onto his side and drifted into sleep. He didn't dream much on the journey, he was too tired from walking all day and getting in what training he could with sticks as swords with some of the guards who indulged a child at their training. Tonight though his mind took him away into the Great Forest, where the minotaurs roamed their ancient paths and danced in the moonlight.

When he woke he hardly realised it, so smooth was the transition. The sky was black with cloud and the moons were nowhere to be seen and for a while the boy didn't know what had woken him. Then a shout came and another, till all around him the others were sitting up and grasping for weapons.

"What's happening? Is it raiders?" growled one of the guards Harald didn't know, pulling a mail shirt over his bare chest but not bothering with his boots.

"If it is we'd better stay here." Replied Hollen. "If it's a distraction they might make off with the horses while we're up there."

The shoeless guard nodded, "Imhair, get up there and if we're needed wind your horn."

Imhair, a Bosmer archer and another of the guards nodded and made off, also barefoot, this time due to custom rather than alarm.

"Boy," Hollen addressed Harald, "Get back there behind the bushes and stay there."

"I can help!" Harald replied indignantly.

"A stick won't help you against a sword. Worrying about you as well as foes is a good way to get a knife in your back."

Mutinously Harald did as he was told, but as he knelt there he felt around him for good sized stones. His sling, as it was always, was coiled around his wrist and he unwound it and shook the knots out, setting a stone in readiness.

Then he heard two horn calls and after a short conference the others ran off up the road on either side of the wagons. There were about thirty guards in total, but all the folk in the caravan were armed, if only with staffs, bows or knives. The half dozen who set off then might turn the tide of any battle going on up ahead, for Hollen said any bandits would retreat at serious resistance and that it was only the narrowness of the road and the extreme length of the caravan that made them an easy target.

Harald heard more shouts and edged out, pulling aside a branch of the bush to look. In the darkness he saw an orange glow and knew one of the wagons must have been aflame, perhaps someone had dropped a lantern and spilled the oil. Then he heard another horn, this one deep-throated and strong and there came more shouts. A dark figure ran back along the path, Harald only seeing him silhouetted against the fire as he ran. Another ran after him, and then three more, their soles flapping against the beaten earth. Were these the attackers or just some of the guards running back to check the wagons at the back of the convoy? Harald thought to call out or cast a stone but without knowing if the others were enemies or friends he could do nothing.

Then something whizzed through the leaves and thudded into the wagon he'd been riding on during the day. An arrow, he realised, meaning the men running had to be the raiders, now pursued themselves! Three more shafts came, Harald feeling their passage through the air rather than seeing them, for he could barely see the wagons themselves in the darkness. Looking back along the trail he saw lights coming toward him and thought he saw Hollen, sword in one hand and torch in the other.

While he was waiting for the others though he heard a noise and suddenly noticed a shape, a shadow stooped between two of the wagons only a few feet in front of him! It must have been one of the bandits, now waiting for the right moment to make his escape. As the others got closer he saw the glimmer of a blade before the bandit evidently thought better of it and disappeared, moving to the other side of the wagon.

Not willing to do nothing for the whole battle Harald went forward, putting one foot on a wheel-spoke and climbing up on top of the timber. He crouched there squinting into the darkness. Then he saw a shape move and heard the rustle of leaves. He stood, whirling the sling about his head and throwing forward with a cry. The stone flew well and struck true, a shout of pain coming from the bushed before him.

"You there stand fast!" came a shout from the guards running up and Harald realised they were talking to him.

"It's the lad you fool." Said Hollen holding his torch high.

"I got one!" Harald told them excitedly, pointing at where he'd slung the stone, "He ran into the woods!"

The guards looked at each other and Hollen told two of them to keep going down the line to check the rear wagons. "I'll not go tramping about in the woods on a night like this." He said, "Did more come this way?"

"A few, but I could barely see them."

"Alright, get along up there, the Foresters took them from behind and they broke through us." Hollen told him and Harald nodded again.

Up at the front of the line men were beating fur pelts against the ground and stamping on them to put out the flames. A few of them had been left to burn on the ground as an improvised bonfire and Emeric was standing by it talking with several armed men, his brow bandaged and the cloth dark with blood.

These must be the Imperial Foresters, taken from the Legion to serve in the vast lands of Cyrodiil. They had a poor reputation among the Colovians but Hollen approved of them. They were armoured in fine mail and wore good cloaks and boots, each with a longsword and a hatchet, as well as bows and quivers. Their leader was tall with a long nose above a grey beard. He had a noble look about him tempered by a grimness.

"Will you make on tonight or wait till morning?" asked the ranger.

"We had wounded and I've no wish for any more upset. I'll travel in daylight or not at all." Said Emeric striking the air with his hand. "How did they come upon us? They seemed to be trying to make away and not fighting at all."

The leader of the Foresters nodded, "We'd driven them out of Underpall three days ago and pursued them this way."

"You drove them onto us?" Emeric asked angrily, his face red.

"You'll keep a civil tongue to the Captain." Said one of the other rangers putting his hand on his sword hilt.

"Peace Casan." Said the Cpatain, "We would have driven them another day or so and brought them to ground if they hadn't come across you. I'll pay wergild for your losses."

Emeric grunted and rubbed his chin, still angry but mollified somewhat.

"It would have been a fine victory if we'd caught their leader." Continued the Captain. "Without him their gang would've broken up months ago."

"He seemed a brave sort." Replied Emeric, "To be last in battle."

"Roric's never lacked for courage, just good sense." The Captain said sadly.

Harald made the realisation that if this leader of bandits had retreated last then he must have been the one to hide between the wagons. Perhaps he'd been thinking of attacking again before he'd put the blade away. Nodding to himself he came forward. "A few of them ran past me and I hit one with a stone."

Emeric turned, "Lad?" he asked, "What're you doing here?"

Harald quickly explain himself and the events earlier.

"Indeed?" asked the Captain appraisingly once Harald had finished, he gave a high whistle like a bird and his men rallied to him. "The boy says Roric got away wounded, make east and find him!"

The Foresters saluted and loped away, hounds running at their sides to take the scent.

"You must be a good shot to have struck him." Said the Captain turning back to Harald, he looked at Emeric, "I didn't realise you had a son."

"I do but he's not mine." Said the caravan leader, "He's going to Skyrim… but if he says he hit the bastard I believe him, he's a good enough shot with that sling."

"We shall see." Said the Captain.

And see they did, for after ten minutes the Captain's man came back dragging a struggling man between them, he limped on only one leg and likely hadn't been able to escape the rangers because of it.

"Hello brother." The bandit said with an evil grin as they dragged him up.

"You forswore brotherhood to me when you turned against the Dragon Roric." Spat the Captain. "I've prayed that you might repent and return to us."

"Really? I was too busy ducking your arrows to hear any prayers." Smirked the bandit.

Harald wondered that Roric didn't fear death. Clearly the captain of the Foresters had some prior relationship with him, but Harald didn't know if they were really brothers or if they'd fought together in past years. It wasn't much further to go from being a ranger to a bandit, a small step really.

"The kin-slayer is accursed by the gods; you'll have Kynareth's justice not mine." Continued the Captain and motioned for his men to depart.

"A pox on you and the Empire. You're no brother to me!" sneered Roric as he was dragged away to his fate, he spat at them as he went and tried to lunge away from his guards but his dragging leg betrayed him and he fell in the dirt.

Seeing his enemy finally caught the Captain signed and ran a hand through his grey hair, strands falling over his shoulders with the motion. He looked down at Harald, "The bounty on Roric was fifty Septims, when you get to Bruma you're to have half of it and Emeric the rest." He looked at the caravaner, "Keep this one close as you go, either he's lucky or the gods are with him. Farewell."

The Foresters departed, their hounds at their heels, fading away into the gloom. Harald looked back at the fire and the patches of blood on the ground from the fighting.

"It was a good shot." Acknowledged Emeric, "But it'd have been better for him if you'd hit his head not his leg."

"What do you mean?" Harald asked, still looking into the fire.

" _Kynareth's justice_. Do you know the Commandment?"

Harald nodded, of course he did.

"They'll tie him to a tree with his own guts and the wolves'll have him. Not a pleasant death…"

Harald look after the Foresters.

" _Respect her power, Fear her fury_."


	24. Chapter 24

_AN: There has indeed been a significant delay in updates. Also, I'm considering changing the title of the fic as I suspect some people don't read it because they think it's just a novelisation of the game. Thoughts?_

-x-

Skyrim was in sight.

The Jerall Mountains towered to the north, their peaks crowned in shining show and Harald knelt in their shadow, searching for his Fatherland.

After weeks trundling through the forests of Colovia the caravan had emerged into the rugged hills of Country Bruma, winding their way through steep valleys toward Bruma itself. Harald had never seen such a harsh country, for he could hardly imagine anything growing among the snowy forests, yet all the same he felt his heart rising with each step northward.

Eventually they saw the spire of the Great Chapel of Talos in the distance, and cresting another hill the mighty walls of the city, walls that had turned back the hordes of Mehrunes Dagon a hundred years ago. The city was as strong as its people and finally Harald was among his own kind after ten years in High Rock. He didn't think his father or grandfather would have ever seen the sight, for he knew his grandfather at least had come from the east by Morrowind, yet no doubt somewhere in the distant past one of his forebears had come south through Pale Pass into Cyrodiil and this thought heartened the boy even more.

However, despite his wishes Bruma was closed to them. By decree of the ruler of the city, all caravans and foreigners had to conduct business outside the city walls, and the caravan master Emeric said it was because of the disruption fairs and markets had caused in the past, and had mostly blamed it on itinerant Khajiit who claimed to be traders but then acquired goods seemingly without the agreement of their previous owners. Even had this not been so, Harald found himself a stranger among those who should be his own people, the cultured Aldmeris he'd been taught by Master Vinothren inflecting his speech in other languages so that he suspected most of the people he'd spoken to thought him some sort of Direnni, neither Man nor Mer but some mulish bastard. This was not necessarily a surprise, for growing up with his colouring but a Merish voice, in addition to his unknown mother, had occasionally meant people in Wayrest took him for Master Vinothren's son, not his ward. He had not felt shame in Wayrest because the people there were themselves of debased and mixed blood and suspected the same of all around them, but to have his father's people dismiss him was a painful blow.

After a week outside Bruma taking on new goods Emeric had announced their imminent departure, and had taken Harald to a tailor for winter clothes. He had been making do with some of the furs that had been badly burnt in the caravan's attack and so hadn't been cold, but Emeric said he looked half a savage in them and had ordered Harald to burn them, fully this time. He'd also had a belt of many pockets made for the boy, which he'd said was the only sensible way he could think of to store twenty-five Septims. The gold was heavy enough that he couldn't carry it on a purse, yet being far more valuable than the provincial silver that was the ordinary currency across the Empire and Emeric said it might draw undue attention if any unscrupulous person heard he had it. The whole bounty for the bandit chief would have been a year's wages to a skilled craftsman, but Harald had barely thought of it because Master Vinothren had always dealt in larger sums and so it seemed of little consequence to the boy that he would be given such an amount. In any case he promised Emeric to keep it in reserve and to hide it when he reached Whiterun, and after that the man departed with many farewells, carrying a letter Harald had written back toward Wayrest to both his Master and the House of Pellas.

That had been yesterday, and today Harald had walked a short distance from the city to a shrine he'd heard about, for he felt the need to pray before the journey north. Pale Pass was apparently quite safe, and patrolled regularly by the Legion, with many travellers going north and so Harald had decided to accompany a party of them, which was also what Emeric had advised before he left. Before he set off though it seemed right that in going toward his fathers' country and people, that he would make supplication to the god of his fathers.

Talos sat enthroned in stone, his brow stern and his sword upon his knees. A dead dragon lay at his feet, eyes rolling in the death throes of its defeat. A cloak of stone covered mighty shoulders and the statue seemed to melt into the rock of the hillside, the finer features like the crown or the face worn away by five hundred years of water and wind.

The glade around Harald was silent but for the scuffling of small creatures under the snow and in the pines and the boy had begun to feel the cold seeping through his cloak like knives after his walk up the hill. He knew he'd have to move soon, but didn't want to leave before he'd discovered whatever he'd been searching for. Harald was unused to prayer, for he'd never attended any church, even though Master Vinothren was himself a pious adherent of the Nine. The elf had refused to take him, even when he'd asked because Master Vinothren thought it inappropriate for him to learn a way of faith that the boy hadn't taken up on his own. Harald had barely understood the excuse, but the Master Vinothren had reminded him that in his own childhood in Morrowind.

"When I was young I was taught the worship of the false gods of the Tribunal." The elf had said one morning, "The Red Year proved this false, but had they not perished I realised I would have continued in my error. It was only though thought that I realised the true path. It is through this thought that a man is differentiated from a beast, because the later have no will of their own, they merely act upon instinct and however they are trained. Such is the manner of beastfolk, who commit evil, yet also do not, due to their primitive nature."

Despite the memory of the elf's words Harald resented him now, kneeling in a sacred place without the knowledge of how to worship at all or the wit to think of it without committing some heresy. Master Vinothren has claimed that sin through ignorance was sin all the same and in preparing his journey north Harald didn't want to call bad omens down on himself.

He stayed a while longer but after a short time he heard a strange noise like the grinding of a millwheel. The sound didn't seem to come from any direction, and though he stood and peered about into the woods the boy couldn't imagine what would cause it. It was difficult to even tell where the noise was coming from, and after looking into the woods Harald turned and went toward the long path leading up to the shrine and found a column of men marching up.

The grinding was a hundred nailed boots on snowy stone and at the front of the column they bore dragon banners. The caravan hadn't travelled on any dangerous roads, so in all his time in Cyrodiil Harald had never seen a legionary, but these could be none other. Here were the men who'd made the Empire, who'd marched beside Talos and Reman before him. By their swords they'd pushed back elves and worse and they looked ready to do so again. They went by him in shining ranks, cloaks like fresh blood on snow, their weapons seeking for employment. Their spears were tall and each man's face was set. Apart from a glance of their centurion and a slight tilt of his crest, none of them even glanced at him and the boy scurried backwards as the century filled the little clearing.

The soldiers formed up into a square and their signifier came forward and at the centurion's direction marched around the perimeter of the formation three times bearing the legion's standard. Then their chief went to the shrine and turned, holding his vine staff aloft. Engraved disks of shining metal circled his belt and there was a dragon picked out in gold thread on his tabard.

"Come forth now and declare yourselves!" boomed the centurion, "Let any man who swears falsely be accursed forever, let Tiberius Imperator afflict him, his house and his estate with the worst of deaths!"

In lines they went forward, eight men each in ten rows. They knelt briefly, laying their spears on the ground and drawing their swords to present them to the statue. They spoke some words which Harald could not hear and stood, placing something in a bag the signifier was holding. This was repeated for each row, the men filing back into the formation and standing to attention till the whole century had made their obedience.

The signifier marched back to the front of the formation, the bag he had been holding audibly clinking before he lowered the standard solemnly to touch the snow. Then the centurion stepped forward again.

"Hail Talos, Lord of Battle, Father of our Fathers!"

The centurion's voice boomed out again and the forest was utterly silent.

"I present these men before you. Fill their hearts with fire and make their swords strong against your enemies, bestow upon them your furious strength, and make them a storm to sweep evil from your sight!"

The legionaries clashed spear on shield and stamped, their feet sending the snow up like white cloaks.

They were too old to have only recently joined and as these dour-handed men marched back along the path toward Bruma Harald wondered if they were the fabled _evocati_ , legionaries who'd served their term and then reenlisted. If it were so they would have been putting gold, Septims certainly, into the bag the signifier had been holding. Ivar had told him each man received a Septim on enlistment, which wasn't actually a significant bonus because they then had to 'buy' their equipment from the Legion itself. It was symbolic though, and symbolism was at the heart of religion.

With this realisation Harald walked forward. He may not have known how to conduct worship to Talos, but he could at least follow the example of the Legion. After all, both his father and grandfather would have likely performed a similar ceremony as they'd both served, so it seemed appropriate to the boy that he would do something similar. He took a Septim from his belt, his fingers stiff from the cold and went to place it on the statue's hand.

What was it the soldiers had said? "Hail Talos," he began after a moment, "Lord of Battle, Lord of Men." Harald had no sword though, only a knife. He would have to improvise, and his father's advice in the letter years ago came to him. "Make me strong for war. Make me bold against enemies and evil. I swear to defend the people of Tamriel."

The glade was silent after his words. They were silly really, the mumblings of a child, but Harald had resolved long ago to follow the path of his forebears, which meant the path of the sword. His father had fought the elves, and his grandfather before him, and Master Vinothren had often remarked that the current peace was merely a truce in between bouts of warfare. Skyrim was before him, and there Harald would seek out the knowledge of the Nords, who were the most ancient enemies of the elves. At Jorrvaskr it was said they kept the axe of Ysgramor by which that hero had taken Skyrim from the elves and avenged the Night of Tears. Perhaps he would see it when he was there, and no doubt the Companions themselves were numerous and vigorous enough for him to continue his education in the martial arts.

New resolve lent his feet wings for the journey northward and soon Harald and the small company of travellers were nearing Pale Pass. Reman had defeated the Akaviri here in the First Era. Had they been the Snake Men or the Snow Men? Harald couldn't remember, and grinned, squinting at the snowy heights, thinking of how Master Vinothren would chastise him for forgetting.

Their party stopped at a small outcropping of rock, perhaps an old boulder crashed down from above. Another stone had been propped against it to form an arch and Harald could make out carvings. Taking a handful of the coarse bread one of the travellers had given him he went over to the rocks, frowning at the carvings.

"It's a bear lodge." Said a voice from behind him.

Harald turned. "A what?"

An old man stood there, he was a tinker going north with his goods. "A bear lodge." He said again in the curious brogue of the Heartlanders. "The Nords used to leave offerings for the gods but the bears kept eating them."

"I have heard it differently." Said another of the party, "The Count was taming them."

"No no," replied the tinker, "that was later. But the Count did raise a company of bear-riders."

Harald's eyebrows rose. " _Bear-riders?"_ he repeated sceptically.

"Not for long, a bear has a ravenous hunger so after the food ran out they started on the riders."

Harald's expression was clear and the travellers laughed as they packed up again. Master Vinothren had told him he'd have to accept many strange customs while he was in foreign lands, advising him be alert and fearless but also discrete regarding whatever he might encounter. Even so, the boy doubted the story was true. He'd certainly never heard of bears being used in battle. Likely it was rather a local superstition, as certainly the travellers seemed not to be able to decide among themselves what was the truth of it.

The day was pleasant, and of the diverse offices of Magnus that of heat and light were most apparent. So then the east turned its silvery brow and bright countenance toward them, crowned in golden glory and robed in all its fair raiment. In the evening the west too would be so attired, but those glorious robes were put aside in place of wrathful hauberk as a growing thunder brewed in the north, covering his face in a broad-brimmed helmet. Harald had been told the sky was ruled by great chiefs and that whenever there was peace among them it was safe to travel, but otherwise it was best to remain at home, he looked up at the mountains and the pass before them, and also to the travellers in the party, but none seemed disturbed by the weather. He had after all been told to follow the example of foreigners when he was in their company, so he too walked at his leisure despite the fearful armament of the northern wind.

"If we're moving up-hill will we be able to see the White-Gold later?" asked Harald after another break. When he'd walked through Colovia all that had been visible was a ghostly shape in the east at night, with the caravaners telling him it was the spectral emanations of that mighty tower, activated in some magical fashion by the moons' light. Apparently one couldn't actually see it from anywhere on the road they'd been on, because of a line of hills that made up the west flank of the Niben basin. Harald had been greatly put out by this explanation, as given his reading and Master Vinothren's stories of history he'd always wanted to see great things, after all, the walls of the Imperial Palace were said to be large enough to hold any other city themselves and the boy had counted on at least seeing it before he passed into Skyrim. Master Vinothren called it the greatest city in the world.

"Not from where we'll be." Said the tinker with whom Harald had been walking. "The pass isn't straight and the road curves. But we've not had any heavy snows this year, so you could make it up to Dive Rock and look out."

Harald regarded the mountains. They were not so large here, in fact, the Valus Mountains were not particularly large in general, and he knew historically it was their snows rather than their height that made them difficult to traverse. Master Vinothren's books were full of armies trying to get from one side to the other and back again. Comparably the Wrothgarian Mountains were said to steal the air from a man's lungs the higher he climbed.

"How long would it take?" he asked.

"Not so long." Was the reply, "Two hours up, one down, and it's a marked path. Many use it for the same reasons you want to. Just to see things. I climbed it in my youth. You'd arrive at the inn after dusk though."

"And we saw that patrol an hour ago." Harald dismissed him, "If there was anything that would want to eat me they'll have scared it off."

"Likely that's true, in any event gods be with you."

After repacking his luggage into a more comfortable layout and fastening his bow to the outside of the pack Harald set off up the slope. As the tinker had said the path was clearly marked, though rather narrow and more a rut than anything but he made good time all the same. The wind had picked up as he climbed higher but quite apart from being cold he'd built up a sweat as he walked, eventually pulling down his hood, snow melting quickly in his hands as he splashed the water on his face and neck.

Higher still he started to see patches of snow on the ground and a little began to fall, but the boy wasn't worried. He was still quite warm from his exertion and he walked freely, mittens dangling from his wrists and hood still down in the sunshine. His pack was heavy but it wasn't for nothing that he'd walked in the forests of Cumberland with Ivar, going for days at a time. Two hours, even on a foreign mountain, was of little consequence. So he thought, and so he continued to think as the wind grew in strength. The snow started getting deeper and Harald drew his scarf up over his mouth and nose, his breath going out of little folds in the cloth with each gasp as the cold slowly clawed its way deeper into his lungs. It wasn't far now, it couldn't be, he'd been walking for at least an hour.

The pack was heavy so he set it down and made to drink from his waterskin. But as he put it to his lips the metal rim bit at his fingers. The water was ice cold and he wet his hands and ran them over his face to wash away the sweat. It had begun to stream into his eyes and the salt was making him blink. He could make out a distinctive rock in the distance, like an old man hunched over, which the tinker had described as marking a point two thirds of the way up. That was less than what he'd hoped but it just meant he'd take a little while longer to get there.

He stretched a little, the muscles in his neck and shoulders tight from his climb. He'd kept his head low as the snow began to fall in earnest, but soon he passed the standing stone and went on, down a little path traversing the mountain. He was close, he knew it.

Thought Imperial sustained him as his feet started to ache and he clamped his hands under his armpits for warmth. Soon he would see the greatest city in the world, for if Wayrest was the Jewel of the Illiac Bay then Hvitgard, _Aedramalada_ , the Imperial City, was the Jewel of all Tamriel. They said it had a dozen districts and he tried to think of them all as he trudged through the snow. The Palace and the White-Gold Tower, the Arena built by Gaiden Shinji, the greatest swordsman in history, the Temple of the One, dome made of glass from the ruins of Crystal-Like-Law and large enough to enclose the miraculous bleeding statue of Saint Martin the Dragon.

But even as the glories of past eras filled his imagination he stepped around another rock and stopped in his tracks. A river stretched away before him, but instead of the Niben and the Heartland it was ice going up and up into the mountains. He must have come to a glacier, the snow of ages flowing down toward Cyrodiil. The tinker hadn't mentioned a glacier, and Harald knew now he was hopelessly lost.

The boy stood, cloak flapping in the wind and the straps of his pack weighing him down. The snow was too strong to make out much more than the silhouette of a ridge off in the distance, stark against a lighter sky. The world was white except the black streaks of rock too steep for the snow to stick. Thinking quickly though Harald turned back, thinking to follow his footprints back toward the distinctive rock and to make his way from there. Had he made a mistake thinking to climb the mountain?

But stepping back along the path he found the snow up to his thighs and he struggled through it, using his bow to clear a path along. The path was narrow, his feet were numb, and even an experienced mountaineer would have been hard pressed to tell the lay of the ground beneath its deadly blanket. The boy stepped… and found nothing beneath his feet. He might have recovered was it not for the heavy pack, now sodden with melting snow which seemed to almost pull him downwards, rolling as he went down the mountainside. He didn't see the rock, nor felt the impact as it struck his head as he fell, and the next thing he knew Harald found himself looking up at a spectre, white against the sky. It watched over him, tall and stern as the north advanced in fury.

He felt blood run down his face and his eyes closing.

"Father." Came a whisper.

But there was no earthly answer. The wind howled and the sky darkened. He felt something pass over him.

Black wings in the cold.


	25. Chapter 25

The wind was a black scream through the valley, the mountain shook and the spirits of the land cried out in anguish.

The thing above him passed low overhead, whistling as it went and in his daze Harald felt himself pressed into the snow as the air settled on him like a great weight. He blinked weakly, eyelids almost frozen shut and tried to rise. The whistling came again, closer this time.

His hands were numb under his gloves and he tore them off, fumbling at the clasp of his pack. He had to get up and though the pack had fallen beside him, straps still trailed from his shoulders, the wooden frame crushed on one side from the boy's fall down the cliff.

Cold fingers grabbed at the straps and even colder ones seeped into his flesh as the boy struggled against the blizzard. He felt a presence, something ancient and horrible just above him, a primal fear to still a beating heart. The clasp came loose and Harald surged to his feet, shaking away his daze and taking up his bow as a staff to steady him as he grimaced into the snowy valley. He moved forward, looking to a stand of stones for shelter but no sooner had he taken his first step, trudging through snow thigh-deep he heard a roar like gravid sails tossed by a storm.

The black shape loomed before him, coming ever closer and he felt its poison before it, sapping his will and making his legs weak. It did not land but cracked the very earth as it dove down. The stones broke and crashed to the valley floor, the thing ploughing a furrow with its talons and sending the snow up as fleeing ghosts.

Harald found himself again face down in the cold, head ringing. His face was wet, not just with snow but with water, and he saw little streams all around him running down, but he hadn't more than a moment to wonder before he felt baleful eyes on him, and he looked up to see a red maw looming in the darkness.

Without thinking he took off running toward the standing stones, boots slipping in the sludge, bow gripped white-knuckled as he scrambled away from whatever monster had found him. A great black limb cut the air above him, pulverising a boulder, the boy throwing up an arm to shield his face from flying chips of stone.

The rock crashed beside him and Harald stumbled over loose shingle, barely able to see more than a few feet before him as he ducked through the blizzard. He felt his doom behind him and he ran on blindly till one of the standing stones loomed out of the darkness before him, black against grey as the light weakly filtered through the clouds.

The sun had deserted him and Harald fled between the stones like the rabbit flees the wolf, running without thinking, desperate only to get away from whatever pursued him. The wind howled in torment and air itself seemed evil to the boy as it filled his lungs with the monster's vaporous breath.

A thundercrack and the monster split one stone right down the middle with a single terrible blow. He fled again, but death found him soon enough and threw aside another of the stones. The red-mawed thing came closer, the ground quaking and breaking before its steps as it dragged itself forward, then death was all about him, an inferno between the stones, tongues of flame across the once icy circle as the frozen water was burst away in sudden heat, the rocks blasting apart. The boy cried out, throwing himself to the floor. It was as if his blood was burning, fire everywhere.

But in the sudden light Harald saw a darker space just ahead, low in the cliff. Instinct rather than reason propelled him onward as he rose, gasping for air like a drowning man as he stumbled toward the cave. He was slow, too slow for someone pursued by such a creature as he was that day, yet in his confusion he hoped the beast had thought him dead. It was a vain hope, but it was all he had left, half-dead from cold and heat, and exhausted all the while. He stumbled against the rock face, the stones biting into an outstretched hand, then almost fell forward into the opening. He felt rock beneath him, and still his blood seemed to burn in his veins as he crawled forward, anything to escape the furnace wind.

 _Rise my son._

For the second time that day Harald awoke, face down in the snow, hauling himself up on leaden limbs. Shadows danced before him and he saw faces in the stone walls of the cave as he stood, squeezing his eyelids together and shaking his head.

A man would have had to stoop in that narrow grotto, but the boy stood easily. Though he had no memory of it he'd clearly manged to crawl a little way into the cave. It was rather shallow, perhaps ten feet from the entrance to the back, and half as wide, narrowing as the shadows swallowed up rock further from him. Harald turned away. He no longer heard the howl of the wind behind him but he shivered in memory of it. Even without it his hands were numb and there was an ache in his skull. He turned, peering out for his pursuer.

While in his terror he'd barely thought of what was after him, only that he should get away, when he stood there he had no doubt, but his mind refused to consider it. That terrible whistling, leathern wings on the wind, that red maw, hot enough to melt ancient stones. Yet the boy was also confronted by his own situation. He lived, if this frozen paralysis could be called life. Could the dra-, the thing-, could it not have seen him as he fled? Had it flown away? He looked again to the ground beyond the cave, there was a stronger light streaming in, stronger by measures than that feeble streak which had led his race across the glacier.

Harald edged closer to the cave's entrance, clutching at the rock wall to steady himself. He saw his bow on the floor and bent for it, but his legs betrayed him and he slumped weakly against the wall, not even having the strength to wince as he fell. His head swam and he shook himself again. He had to get out, and back down the mountain. He would take his bow. It seemed so far and he grasped for it, snow crunching beneath his fingers as he scrabbled for the wood. It wasn't a heavy weapon, he'd been told he'd have to find heavier as he grew, but it still took the boy far too long to draw it closer to him, bringing it up across his legs as if to fend off an attacker.

He still had his quiver hanging from a belt across his chest, but as he fumbled for the catch he found the pouch half burnt away. A single arrow was caught in some of the cloth and Harald stared blankly down at it. Mechanically, reason far from his mind he drew the shaft out and set the nock to the string. Some part of him knew it was useless, and that the red-mawed thing would hardly notice such a feeble attack but he drew comfort from the gesture all the same.

The wind rose and the wailing of it filled the boy's soul with slow dread. Understanding came slowly to Harald's mind, almost like the sea currents of his boyhood, capricious and subtle, the reality of the situation evading him, yet all at once it crashed on him as a storm. Here he sat, frozen in a dark hole, utterly forsaken. No escape through the cave, it was too small, no escape outside, for the glacier was wide and the red-mawed thing was surely perched in some high place awaiting its prey.

If he hadn't already fallen the weight of it would have forced him to the ground. He mourned for his lost future, the bow in his hands a reminder of all the plans he'd had. Harald was to be a knight, a champion, to win honour and to fight battles. He had sworn as such on his father's spirit at the shrine of Talos. He had wanted to discover his lost father, or even the name of his mother, of where he'd come from before he'd come to Wayrest. Skyrim had promised all that and more…

But as he considered it he felt a glimmer of something else.

The gods had led him to this, and it was a prosperous fate indeed. The red-mawed thing, no, he would name it, even if the word brought back the terror, the _dragon_ that waited above would assure all that he had wanted. That there were no witnesses his death would not extinguish the glory of it. He looked down at the bow. He hadn't trained as much with it as he had with the sword or mace, as the men of Wayrest had little use for bows. He hadn't thought to fight any battles with it, but he had no sword, but then again neither did the dragon.

Harald's lips twitched in amusement, and if he'd had the strength a manic tone would have worked its way into his laugh, even so, a gleam came into his eyes and the boy raised an arm to wipe away the ice on his face.

This had to be the first dragon anyone had seen in three centuries. He wondered how long it'd been up here, no doubt it watched the passes through the mountains for fools like him, but in a way he was glad, truly, here was an enemy heroes would face. Such creatures figured heavily in the Nordic myths, and though he'd grown up in the south, for every tale of Alinor Master Vinothren had told him the elf would tell another of Skyrim. Stories of the White Shore where Ysgramor had landed, of Solitude perched atop its great arch or of fierce chieftains leading their hosts to battle through mist swathed vales.

They said a man could go out at certain times and find himself in a great clearing among mountains and see a golden hall in the distance, yet never reach it no matter how far he travelled. Harald had not seen such a hall in his travels, but he knew he would see it soon. Tsun, God of Trials, watched a bridge of whalebone that led to the hall and a worthy death was the only passphrase.

Sovngarde beckoned. It was close now, ever so close… The boy rose, leaning heavily on the bow. He stooped to string his weapon but found it already done. Had he done so? The cold sapped his memory and he shook himself again. Only a few steps outside and he would begin on a shining path. It was the only way. They said Tsun threw cowards who approached the golden hall down into darkness, their souls to be gnawed by Alduin for all time. Harald scowled. He had not come so far to find such a fate and he swore on his honour that it was not for him.

Harald rose, his vigour returning. Once again his head felt heavy and his blood scaled his veins. The faces in the walls of the cave mocked him as he passed but he took no heed of them, shuffling forward to the outside.

Kynareth had drawn back her veil and the wind no longer roared, but danced about the glacier, sky clear and blue. He felt the breeze through his hair. The Nords called her the Kiss-at-the-End and she guided the dead. Was this a sign? Kynareth was the protector of Skyrim and the patron of archers, should he make some offering?

But there was no time and echoing around the glacier's surrounding rocks sounded the whipping of wings. The thing, the _dragon_ came upon the wings of history, great and terrible. A great black beast, steam billowing from his mouth like a poison, a crest of terror upon its head and a tail like a serpent. Its wings would have dwarfed the largest sails and as it came to land he felt the furnace wind again. This time he was ready and the boy kept his footing even as the unholy thing rent the earth as it landed, vicious claws cutting through the ice like blades.

It was an ancient shadow, now stark in the day. It was a good death. It was a moment for heroes, and could Harald do any less than those in his stories?

"Dragon!" he called, his throat seeming to tear as he spoke, ice flooding his lungs. "I am Harald, son of Robert. I have a name, and it is unlawful to slay me! I am no beast, and claim this land in the name of my fathers!"

Sovngarde was in his ears as he put his fingers to the bow string. The wood was wet from the ice, but the weapon would serve him on that glorious field. His vision blurred as the beast slithered toward him, its claws biting through the now fallen standing stones that he had sheltered behind. Molten eyes regarded him, utterly alien, only their cruelty familiar.

Harald took up his stance, bringing the bow up. "Kynar-" he stopped, that was not her name in the north, he took a breath and made to speak again.

Muscles burning, he drew, "Kyne guide me." came the whispered plea.

The dragon stalked nearer, eyes boring into his soul. The red-maw opened and its fire rivalled the sun.

He loosed, the arrow flew, and he saw that it was on fire. All before him, all around him, the fire that held divine promise. His body screamed as his flesh melted away, the doom-drum pounding in his ears. The fire flooded his lungs and in that moment Harald felt another fire within him.

He did not feel himself fall, nor saw the darkness the came after that terrible light. The chant roared through him and in his last moment, even after his eyes had burned away, he saw a golden light.

 _I am with you my son._


	26. Chapter 26

AN: This is the end of the first arc of this story. I'm quite pleased with how it's gone, though I can recognise it's been somewhat slow at times. In part this was necessary because I was setting a lot of things up, which I think I've been successful in doing, particularly regarding the characterisations that will propel much of the plot of this story. This is the first chapter not from Harald's perspective, which is useful because he's not entirely reliable as a narrator.

-x-

Llirelyn Vinothren always enjoyed dinner at the House of Pellas. The lord kept a good pantry and tonight they dined on venison and peppered goose eggs. The later reminded the elf of his childhood among the fishers of Sheogorad, of hard bread and scrib jelly from the mines. Though Llirelyn didn't often eat meat, finding that it disagreed with his disposition, to Pellas the fighting sailor it was a common enough, especially as the man despised fish, something Llirelyn had always found somewhat unusual for an admiral.

"It will not do my lord," one of the other guests was saying, and the man launched into a frustrated speech.

As well as Llirelyn there was also several of Pellas' subordinates, as well as their wives and any children old enough attend such a dinner. Pellas had frequently been holding such events to feel out his captains as to the situation currently under discussion.

While Llirelyn and the Lords of the New Blood, descendants of Andorak and his nordic host, had been agitating for greater influence in the kingdom other forces had been making their own moves. The Marcher Lords of Alcaire had roused themselves in the north and started getting involved in the general politics of the kingdom, with this involvement only growing stronger and more urgent following the death of a magnate and the subsequently marriage of his heiress daughter to one of the stronger marchers. The daughter seemed to have fallen in love with the marcher and her father's old allies had fallen into a new faction made up of the most northern and eastern lords of Stormhaven, which in turn had enraged the rest of the lords against the new faction. At the heart of the matter were the peculiar rights granted to the marches, mainly consisting of immunity from law and relief from duties in return for protecting the kingdom's borders against the various marauding Bretons and Orcs coming down out of the mountains. Ordinarily these were not questioned, but recently marcher lords had acquired estates outside their marches, but had claimed to simply be enlarging their demesnes, refusing to pay taxes on their acquisitions and claiming all their new land under their old marcher privileges. Almost all of Alcaire had adopted this farce, and great resentment was building among the lords of Gauvedron in the east.

To some extent it was Llirelyn's fault as he'd advocated the New Blood to agitate the king against the marchers and take a more active foreign policy, but now the situation had rapidly gotten away from him. To many people, high and low, had become involved and there was tension in the land. Open war had yet to erupt, but both the marchers and Pellas' faction in Wayrest were eager for something to occur, with only sensible voices among the Church lobbying for a prudent settlement. Pellas, a pious man, had wisely stepped aside leaving one Roger, Earl of Cumberland, to take up leadership of the faction.

In the meantime, the king had only retreated, allowing the powerful barons of Menevia like Roger who surrounded the city to act more or less independently, secure in the immediacy of their positions in relation to the crown, but equally wielding a powerful force collectively that the king could not easily challenge.

"I agree my lord father, we should join forces with Lord Roger." said Morric, the eldest of Pellas' sons, and the boy began his own speech. Llirelyn supposed the boy should be allowed to make mistakes while he was young but hid a smile with a sip of his wine. The elf suspected Morric's support was rather more because of his liking for Roger's younger sister than his support for Roger's political position.

"Prudence is the chief of all virtues." replied Pellas evenly, his cheeks slightly red in the candlelight, "We gain little by war, and besides, our strength is in the sea. We might well land our marines and march with Cumberland but sailors can do little against the iron charge of Alcaire."

They argued on for a while, Llirelyn staying silent till only he and Pellas remained. The servants cleared away the dishes and brought out brandy and it burned pleasantly through Llirelyn 's mouth and down his throat. The candles burned low, dimming as the day had hours before.

"I think I must send him away to cool himself." remarked Pellas.

"Morric is a young man, and has a young man's fire." replied the elf.

"If only there were some war, when I was young my own father tempered me against the pirates of the Blue Diamond."

"Well after this is all over you can send him off as well, send him under Arlmund or some other solid man. It'll do him good."

Pellas pursed his lips, golden brandy glinting as he swirled it gently around his goblet. "I truly don't know what to do currently." he confessed, "Everything is most uncertain, much could be gained, but I deem that much more could be lost."

The elf regarded him. "Have you been across the river recently?"

"No of course not, to what end?"

"I recently went to the house of a magistrate of my acquaintance, a Breton, but of good stock. As I walked there I saw all the huddled poor, swathes of mongrel households, the dregs of history. Now, I don't believe history holds stories, or at least I don't believe any but the Nine can comprehend them, but I do know those people I passed are the remnants of a once great race. Once they were the Direnni Hegemony in form, but now they squat in half of the city they once sent forth armies from." Llirelyn paused, regarding Pellas, "Your people came down with Andorak a hundred years ago, you conquered, and that spirit exists within you and your line still. Such a spirit is a weapon, but a weapon needs first a hand to wield it, and a will to strike. I cannot advise you to take any particular course, but I at least advise action. Prudence is worthy, but it's also the path to the same complacency that I saw across the river, the path to a slothful death."

The hinges of the door creaked and both of turned. Elaine entered, her slippers scuffing on the floor and her hair a golden halo against the corridor outside. She went to her father and took his hand in her own. "Father may I go pray?"

Pellas looked at her groggily, "What is the hour?" he asked, turning to his attendant.

"The tenth bell my lord."

Pellas looked back at his daughter, "No child, it is too late, go tomorrow."

While Pellas was not irreverent, and indeed had once come to Llirelyn with concerns over how he'd been attending to Harald's spiritual education, the lord had recently been concerned over his daughter. Where a few months ago Elaine had prayed only dutifully with her parents, recently she'd taken any opportunity to attend a church and had seemingly abandoned many of her hobbies. While she still had her family, the departure of her only friend had struck her heavily.

But her sadness moved the elf and before either could speak he made to stand. "I have a galley coming in later, I can take her on my way to the square." he lied.

Pellas accepted this and told his daughter to retuned soon before he himself retired. Elf and girl went to the door and Cassius came forward carrying Llirelyn 's robe. The girl shuffled miserably along beside him while Cassius' claws clicked behind them. The elf's mind turned away from the heavy matters of state to the sadness of the girl. She was too young for love, but Llirelyn remembered well his own heartache when he'd received news of his friend Magnus' death. Harald had not died but the elf sympathised, even with the boy's regular letters to go from closeness to such distance would be like enough to death. The children had played music together, practiced at archery and even gone on that ridiculous adventure involving the dreugh.

The trio walked through Wayrest. There were roof tiles littering the ground and even some fallen masonry from the larger buildings. Only a few days ago the worst storm in living memory had roared its way down from the mountains in the north, it had upended several ships in the harbour and shattered windows, torn off shutters and caused all manner of chaos in the city. The priests had preached a sermon of omens and divine judgement for the pride of the lords, but Llirelyn had ignored it, he was faithful but he also knew well that the kingdom's name wasn't always accurate.

They turned a corner into one of the smaller squares of the district. On the corner, entrance between two larger dwellings, sat a small church. It was ancient, or at least its foundations were, for it'd been rebuilt many times. It was not made in the same style or stone as the other buildings, but it held nearly as many relics as the Cathedral across the city. They came within and Llirelyn stayed back as Elaine knelt at the altar. Before her was her sainted forebear, a mosaic of a women, red-cloaked, with shining tears on her cheeks as she extended silver hands toward her child. The church was dedicated to Saint Elysana, the mother of the Elegant line to which Elaine and her mother descended. In turn they patronised the church in memory of the saint, Llirelyn could still remember the wedding of Elaine's parents, the event's extravagance some ways inappropriate for such a humble place, but it was traditional and that's what mattered.

It was unusual to see mosaics this far north, they had much stronger presence in the south as an Alessian fashion. The elf wondered whether it was original or not, but given the number of times Wayrest had been sacked or there'd been fires he doubted it. It was not a technically sophisticated as the stained windows of the Cathedral, but it was still quite beautiful. He regarded the girl kneeling by the altar, Elaine was a sweet girl, but most unwise in the ways of the world, her heart full of her mother's stories. Her cloak spread out behind her like a river of blood.

Llirelyn frowned a shook himself, it was rare that he caught himself in such morbid thoughts. Likely it was the unusual weather they'd been having, but then again perhaps simply the melancholy of absence.

Would the innocence of this child be shattered by his actions? Long ago the elf had made a conscious decision to turn away from the superstitions of his people, but here he was playing at the Webspinner's game. While Llirelyn had never betrayed or murdered anyone, and indeed couldn't claim to have moved the lords of Stormhaven on his own, he had certainly contributed to the current state of affairs. That was the problem of such schemes as he'd prepared for New Blood, where even in the beginning they'd not had a clear goal in mind, and had rather reacted to the policies of others. Years ago when he'd just been a merchant he'd built a reputation as a figure of trust and worth, and seeing his success men had started coming to him for advice, more and more came and soon his name was known throughout the merchants of the city, and lords began to come as well. Perhaps he shouldn't have gotten so involved in the politics of the city, but where would that have left him? More gold and fewer friends no doubt, impotent as all Mer were when away from their native lands.

Elaine rose and bowed to the saint, gliding around the altar and putting some small offering into the basket at the base of the mosaic. Seeing that she'd finished her devotions Llirelyn turned to rack of votive candles toward the door, taking on to light another. The flame flickered in a slight breeze, mirroring his thoughts. Had he taught this ambiguity to his ward? Or rather, had he taught Harald to think in the same ways he did?

Certainly he'd never wanted to decide Harald's life, he wasn't the boy's father, but he'd always wanted to honour the memory of his friend Magnus by caring for his grandchild. Llirelyn had taught Harald as best he could, but he also recognised that he wouldn't have taught a child of his own Merish blood the same things. Harald had a yearning, no, a lust for glory and the recognition of others because he himself was a stranger and a foreigner in a city and among people who were not his own, being educated in a house and tradition that were far from that which he should have had. The boy was pious in a way, but pious toward an image or persona that did not necessarily have a basis in reality. Llirelyn had never told Harald his family were perfect, but equally he'd always talked about them in good terms. Rising up from the destruction of all they'd known Magnus in his day had sought the same glory Harald did now, but the search had left him prickly, mercurial and violent, secure in his deceptions when they went among the Dunmer refugees after the Red Year. Llirelyn remembered how both he and the Nord had taken pleasure in the position of power they'd had over those they were escorting, and Llirelyn had found it easy to forget their cruelty to the destitute magisters who had once seemed so superior.

Magnus had sought honour for himself, sought to elevate his reputation as a strong and powerful figure, and even when he'd sobered later in life the man had remained focused on his own affairs, joining the warring emperors during the Interregnum for promises of loot rather than patriotic fervour. Would Llirelyn's ambivalence toward Harald's future lead to the same? He'd been careful not to impress his own values on the boy but when he considered the result of his agitations among the New Blood he realised Harald may now believe in that lie of victory through struggle.

But Magnus was only one example, perhaps the boy would take after Robert and Skyrim would make him a taciturn legionary. Robert after all had reacted against his own father's behaviour and forsook personal recognition, merely going about his duty to the Empire to the exclusion of family or nation.

The elf escorted Elaine back to her father's house and then wandered slowly through the city in the general direction of the docks. Waves stroked the shore and the wind was calm. He looked up at twin moons overhead. It was as light through a glass, reflected and refracted into myriad forms. Magnus and Robert, reaver and soldier, Shor and Talos.

He dug a Septim from his purse, flicking it high into the night air. It span end over end, glinting in the moonlight, dragon on one side, man on the other. The coin tumbled home, yet as it struck the elf wondered at it. The coin had fallen just between two fingers and balanced there in the crease of his hand, the motto about the rim clearly visible.

Llirelyn scoffed at the omen, slid the coin back into his purse and set off home.


	27. Chapter 27

Fire crackled in the hearth. The burning wood glowed and whenever some weaker element collapsed it would send up plumes of new sparks. But among the weakness lay strength. Twice-burnt charcoal and the hard hearts of fallen trees withstood the furnace, outlasting it.

Harald could feel the heat from where he was sitting, a steady glow like the sun on a summer day. He basked in it, pushing away the cold that had seeped into his bones before up on the mountain.

The boy didn't fully remember how he'd gotten there, but he now found himself by the fire in one of the many inns under the shadow of Helgen's towers. The town had been built around the Imperial garrison and its walls were tall, but Harald knew height meant nothing when an enemy could come from above.

All trade coming from the south passed through the town and more specifically through the customs officials, so another stranger didn't raise suspicion, but Harald was still surprised no one had stopped him. Perhaps they took him for a Bosmer, he was short enough…

The mountain and the monster had faded into a dark struggle at the back of his mind. He clearly remembered beginning the trip through the pass, and diverging to find Dive Rock, and later the fury of his pursuer, but after that he'd lost time, and clearly a day and a night had passed before he found himself in Helgen. The fire was clear; he knew he'd never forget it. The fire and a voice on the wind…

"Are you with me father?" he whispered, but there was nothing but the chatter of the others in the common room and the crackle of the fire.

How he'd survived the dragon and what he'd done afterwards Harald could hardly remember. The fire should have killed him, _did_ kill him, he remembered the inferno around him, the pressure and heat, his spirit soaring free, yet here he was, uninjured, even from his fall from the path onto the glacier. But the events eluded him and he could only grasp at shadows, a great leather carcass across the snow, the shattered remnants of its bones, the sharp rocks beneath naked feet and the watchers on the wind as he'd come down the mountain.

Some of his equipment was gone, his fur cloak and his thicker boots, but the rest of it seemed to be intact, still where he'd arranged it in his pack, though he'd found the bag's wooden frame broken, probably from his fall. It was a struggle to think how he'd managed it and his head ached whenever he tried. Had the fire burnt away his clothes? Had he dressed himself from the spares in his pack? It seemed an unlikely thing to have done out on the glacier but here he was. Somehow even his bow had survived and he found it propped next to him at the table.

He shivered and moved his stool around, closer to the fire. The inn was partially underground as was common in the north, with low doorways on both sides of the room going into what Harald assumed were either storerooms or lodgings. However, it was clear the usual patrons had yet to arrive, indeed, aside from an old woman slowly sipping at some soup a few tables away, his corner of the room was deserted. The others around the room were clearly strangers not locals, and he saw two Dumner conversing, one Mannish trader of indeterminate blood and a figure in a hooded cloak sitting by themselves.

Though the room was spacious enough, never in his memory had Harald felt the world so close about him, oppressive, crushing even. The fire felt too hot, yet his body felt too cold, whenever the door opened the light was too bright and the low chatter of the patrons made his head ache. He was suspicious of every sign and portent, from the crack in the table which resembled the nine rays of the Divines to a soot mark on a wall in the shape of a hawk. It felt like drowning, the time between the dive into deep water and the moment before breaking free.

With a start he felt it, or rather, saw it, back on the glacier a light before him, around him, within him, the first gasp of air, the gasp of life. Harald felt again the cold of the snow running around him, the ice beneath him, hot and cold at once, then the wild wind on his face and the raging in his blood. The cackling of the fire was behind him but behind that the song, the shouts and the pounding drumbeat in his ears, the pounding blood, it grew and grew until...

The door crashed open against the wall and a throng burst in, their laugher filling the room. It jolted the boy awake from his reverie and thrust him into the present.

Skyrim had come. The men who'd entered were Nords, tall and strong, their hair braided and their cloaks rich. In Wayrest only knights could wear swords in the city, but here each man wore one openly, their weapons hilted with snarling beasts, bright mail about their shoulders. They greeted the innkeeper warmly and began thrusting chairs aside to bring tables together into one larger one, then they threw themselves down with more laugher.

"Mead! Mead!" they shouted with more laugher and they pounded the tables with their fists.

With each strike Harald felt the pressure building in his skull, the drumbeat crashed again and he felt his face grow hot, a call to war.

Then band celebrated as they quaffed their ale, several of them draining mugs in one long drink and then throwing them down merrily. They quietened after that, a one-eyed greybeard holding court from his place at the head of the table as they others listened carefully to him. As Harald watched them he saw one of the warrior watching him in turn. The watcher was much the same as the others, with the only distinguishing feature being an immensely long beard, braided and tucked into the man's belt. Long hair was uncommon among the men of Wayrest and the sight of it looked so ridiculous to Harald that he was entirely distracted from his aching head. He couldn't imagine how the man had even managed to dress, and an image came to him of this warrior threading his beard through his clothes and mail shirt before following through with his head and the boy grinned at the thought.

The bearded watcher frowned and stood, pulling away from his comrades and walking over to Harald. The boy saw menace in his stride and he felt the heat of the fire on his back again, seeping through his cloak into his core, what was happening to him?

The warrior approached and took up the bow next to Harald. His mouth moved but the boy heard nothing but the pounding in his ears. The man turned to the crowd and held the bow as they laughed and gesticulated back to him. It was as if Harald saw it all from another's eyes, him sitting at the table, the man mocking his weapon, the cackling fire, the world quivering. The bearded warrior turned back to Harald and he felt himself standing, pulling back his hood. The man looked down at him and stopped, he said nothing, shrugging and casting the bow down on the table in insult, turning away, calling something to his comrades.

But Harald's blood was up, he would not be insulted in his own land, not among his own people. He drew breath and the cold air burned his lungs. The stool was in his hands and a cry on his lips and when the other turned back to him he swept the stool forward, all his strength into the strike.

The man's face showed his surprise at the attack, but soon turned to pain as his eyes bulged and he choked, falling to the floor, hands between his legs.

The world sounded again and Harald heard the roars of laughter from the warrior band and the mocking calls to their fellow curled on the floor. It shocked him back to consciousness.

Harald let the stool fall from his hands. What had he done? Why had he done it? He looked down, his brow furrowed, letting himself slump onto another stool. His hands were clenched and he slowly relaxed them. It had been so sudden, he'd felt the heat build in him and _moved._ It was as if he could see clearly again and he sat in amazement, grasping the bow before him, running his fingers over the wood and leather, grounding himself by the grain.

The felled man had begun to stand, his eyes bright as he glared at Harald but swiftly another came up behind him. It was the one-eyed warrior, older, his face scarred and weathered. He seized the felled man by the shoulders and cast him back toward the band's table with a word. He regarded Harald, his eyes narrowed, frowning with a wolfish brow. He came forward himself, glanced down at the fallen stool and righted it with the ghost of a smile. He looked at Harald again as he sat and pushed his sword's hilt to the side to a more comfortable position.

The man's lips moved but Harald was still wondering at his own actions, he gripped the bow hard and looked up.

His scars were really quite horrific, two long ugly marks beside his nose, jagged and rough as if from a claw, one of them passing through the ruined mess of his eye socket, now more square than round, with the other scar across his temple, through the grey of his hair toward the ear. But even the man's features were nothing compared to the burning embers which had pursued him not a day before.

"Boy." The man growled. "A fine strike boy." He glanced over his shoulder back to his table. "I've never seen one of my own laid out with such a weapon, though it's not one I'd be likely to see in our armoury."

Harald said nothing, the madness of his rage receding. He could almost feel the strength leaving him, the world less bright and deafening, his hands no longer shaking and the cold sweat on his brow.

He regarded the boy, "Who are you and what are you doing here?"

It was abrupt, almost rude, but Master Vinothren had always said that Skyrim's roughness had produced a rough people, but Harald hadn't expected to encounter it just yet in a man who, by his metal and dress, was a noble.

"I am Harald of Valland." He replied, using the name the Nords had for High Rock. Master Vinothren had taught him the uses of courtesy. He'd seen the Dunmer use the same technique many times against angry debtors, being excessively formal to reclaim a conversation.

"And let me see," the greybeard began, "You were hard to handle at home so your father sent you here? Perhaps to an uncle or for fostering?"

It was only that the suggestion was slightly wrong that stopped Harald from showing his surprise. It was only after he'd bent his mind toward it that he realised it wasn't such a leap, after all, fostering was common enough, and he supposed he wouldn't have been surprised if the greybeard had guessed he was the son of a sailor or a legionary, both occupations were popular among Nords and many of his race found themselves in far places like Wayrest. Silently he appraised the man on the other side of the table, after all despite his wishes Harald was a stranger in Skyrim and he should hardly begin by underestimating those he met.

"Not to a fostering." He replied. Master Vinothren had also taught him to be taciturn when unsure.

"Where then?"

"Jorrvaskr." Harald said simply.

"Oh ho!" exclaimed the greybeard. "And do you think it likely they'll let you go along there if you couldn't be controlled at home?"

But Harald had read the old tales, "I've been misinformed then, if such men are of no use to Ysgramor's hall."

"Jeek's hall." Replied the greybeard with a sneer. "And while I don't make the same mistake Toki made, you are not a man, and certainly won't be one for a few years."

"Then I'll fight to prove myself." There were many such cases of admission from Master Vinothren's books.

"Then you must hope they have a supply of stools there." And Harald thought the smirk had become cruel. The warrior across from him sat forward, leaning on his elbows and bringing his hands together under his chin. He appraised Harald, then turned slowly back to his table and warriors, then back again to Harald. "If you're resolved in this I'll wish you luck." The warrior remarked as if to dismiss the matter, "Tell them the Trollwaker sent you."

And as abruptly as he'd introduced himself he stood up and left Harald alone.

In his confusion the boy did nothing after the conversation, and further into the evening he merely sat and watched, curled in a corner of the greatroom by the fire, trying to make some sense of the day's events. Night fell swiftly in the winter and others jostled for the fire's warmth, setting their furs out around it and carrying the tables off to make room to sleep. Harald took up station in the corner, curled leaning against his pack, agitated and restless. It wasn't merely the odd conversation with a stranger so interested in the boy's business but the day in general. Memories returned slowly, he'd heard sometimes about men who'd been struck on the head and forgotten themselves, but as he sat there in the inn it seemed as if he were back on the mountain, flashes of light and the cold, his journey down, a path leading to a road and the gates of Helgen.

The conversation with this 'Trollwaker' had been strange, both the manner of it and the subject, but while it unusual the man took such a close interest in his business, Harald hadn't spared a thought for it at the time, still trying to regain control of himself after his rage. He'd been angry before of course, but never in his memory had he felt such a fury, such all-consuming fire, the heat in his face, his blood pounding in his ears and heart thumping. No thought had entered his head, no consideration of what to do, how to respond to the bearded warrior who'd come over to him, he simply stood, no, found himself standing, his 'weapon' in hand, then swinging it to fell the foe. It was as if he'd been in some mortal battle and lost himself in combat.

When he'd trained with Ivar in the salles of Wayrest the legionary had taught him discipline and planning, to train frequently till actions could be performed without conscious effort, to parry and thrust, yet to shackle the virtue of combat carefully, to take no improper action, to never leave himself unguarded. In his attack on Toki it seemed he'd forgotten every lesson he'd had, almost as if he hadn't merely given in to rage as an amateur might, using it as some did to give strength to their attacks, but instead truly been overcome by it, the rage making him stand, as if his body had been, for a moment, no longer his own.

The boy's eyes lingered on one of the stools. He hadn't even heard what the man had said to him before he'd grabbed for the weapon, even if it had been some grave insult there had been no time to register it before he had acted. Harald pushed away the encroaching sense of shame at the thought of what Master Vinothren would say if he'd been there, after all, while it might have been unreasonable in this case he knew it must have been justified, with the feeling itself giving all cause to act. Never had he attacked another as he had there, yet never had he felt such rage.

But then he had felt it hadn't he? Not rage, but still the same feeling of _doing_ rather than _thinking_ , the same action without thought. Up on the mountain, when he'd finally accepted his fate, when he'd made the decision to face the dragon. The same rage had flowed through him, the same pounding drums in his ears and the rising fire deep in his chest.

Despite his thoughts exhaustion eventually overwhelmed him and Harald drifted into sleep. His dreams were strange and without logic, he seemed to fly high above the world, the mountains and rivers below him, patchwork fields and the dark smudges of towns as he flew. Then the clouds covered his sight and he went on into a grey wilderness. The ground was ash beneath his feet and the bones of the earth reached up, grasping at his cloak. With a word he set many to flight but others rose up and knelt, holding gifts in supplication. After trudging through that strange landscape, his toes sinking into the grey ooze around him he came to a great castle and passed through doors reaching to the sky, braced against the firmament. Within sat a cruel-faced warlord, and around him warriors, concubines and priests to do his will. All manner of monsters gathered about the court, hideous in their finery, yet proud and bold. All knelt before the warlord and Harald felt himself draw closer to the high seat, unable to decide between fleeing and going forward.

"Who are you?" he asked.

The cruel-faced warlord laughed and spoke, his voice booming, and the last thing Harald saw before he woke was a cold face, eyes burning, lips dripping fire.


End file.
